Shirley of Avonlea
by ElouiseBates
Summary: The adventures of Shirley Blythe after he returns from the war. COMPLETED
1. Coming Home

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of L.M. Montgomery's characters, although I have a lot of fun playing in her world._

**Shirley of Avonlea**

Shirley Blythe stood stock-still for a moment and looked about him with satisfied eyes. It was good—good—_good_ to be home again! He hadn't realized just how much he had missed the old place until he was back, seeing the stately old house sitting comfortably in the mellow golden light of the sunset, reminding him rather of a dignified mother cat basking in the evening light with her tail curled comfortably 'round her feet. There was Rainbow Valley, as sweet and wholesome and green as ever, with the sleigh-bells tinkling lightly on the breeze, the Tree Lovers with their arms still entwined around each other and the White Lady as stately and aloof as of yore. There was the Glen pond, shimmering gently in the same breeze that blew the bells, and there, flying out the front door looking as young as a girl, was Mother, with dear old Susan right behind her. Shirley dropped his kit bag in the soft grass and held out his arms to the two most important women in his life.

"Shirley—oh my son—you're home," said Mother, raising her shining tear-wet grey eyes gaze hungrily at his face.

"My brown boy—my blessed brown boy," choked out Susan.

Shirley smiled a little, kissed both of them on the tops of their heads—Mother's still glossy and red despite the few grey hairs caused by the war, and Susan's iron-grey and grizzled—picked up his bag, and walked into Ingleside. Yes, it was good to be home.

* * *

They had a party that night, to celebrate the last Blythe or Meredith to return—except Walter, who would never come home and yet in a strange way was all around. Shirley lounged against the fireplace and looked around the family circle with gratification. He never showed much emotion, but his people were all very dear to him, deep down in the quiet recesses of his heart. It just seemed right to have them all gathered together once more. Besides, with that many people around, nobody expected him to do much talking! 

Mother and Dad, and Mr. and Mrs. Meredith were seated close to each other, all watching their children as if they couldn't get enough of seeing them. Little Bruce was at Mrs. Meredith's knee, sound asleep from excitement. Jem, Faith, Jerry, Nan, Ken, and Rilla were all in what was jokingly called the "sweetheart's corner." A smile crinkled up the corners of Shirley's brown eyes as they all chattered away like magpies. Una and Di were sitting one on either side of Miss Cornelia, talking comfortably to her. Despite the smiles they both wore, Shirley knew that Walter's death had been dreadfully hard on both of them—although he was equally sure that they both thought nobody but themselves knew of it. It was amazing the kind of knowledge one could pick up when one used one's ears and eyes instead of one's mouth.

Carl was sprawled out next to Shirley, absently playing with Magog. It was the prime place to be, because Susan, who refused to sit still, kept coming out of the kitchen with more and more goodies for Shirley. There were far more than he could possibly eat, but he wouldn't have hurt Susan's dear feelings for anything, so he waited until she went back into the kitchen for more, and then split them with Carl. After so many months of flying-corps food, Susan's baking was nectar of the gods.

Shirley enjoyed his first evening home very much, but he liked it even better when the manse folk and Miss Cornelia had left and the canoodling couples were lingering in Rainbow Valley, and it was just him, Mother, and Dad.

"Well son, it is good to have you back," said Dad approvingly. "The last of our boys to return, and here you are, safe and sound."

"You look—well," said Mother softly.

Shirley smiled understandingly at her. "I am well, Mother." There was more he wanted to say, about the war and its effect on him, but he didn't have her gift with words. After a moment's struggle, he simply said, "It was—good—that I went." That wasn't really what he meant at all, but Mother understood. Mother always understood.

"And now you'll be off to Redmond with the rest this fall?" asked Dad.

Shirley folded his arms behind his head. "No, actually. I want to teach for at least a year first."

"But why?" asked Dad. "There's no need for you to put off college."

Shirley shrugged. "I know, but I want to try my hand at teaching. I want a chance to do some building up, instead of just tearing down. I feel like—like I owe that to the world," he finished awkwardly.

A roguish light sparkled in Dad's hazel eyes. "You know, Shirley, if you teach, you will be expected to actually talk to the children."

The three of them laughed. After their initial surprise, Mother and Dad accepted his decision easily. "Will you try for the Glen school?" asked Mother.

"We'll see," said Shirley. In truth, he had a school in mind, but he wasn't ready yet to share it with anyone, even Mother and Dad.

Then Jem, Nan, and Rilla came back inside, all sparkling with happiness and laughter. Jem clapped Shirley on the shoulder. "Glad to have you back, young brother o' mine. I know it's a ways off, but I need you to promise me that no matter what, you'll stand up with me at my wedding."

"I'll fly from the ends of the earth, if necessary," promised Shirley.

"Good old dependable Shirley," commented Nan as she tripped lightly up the stairs. "No need to ever worry about him."

The words, though lightly spoken, rankled slightly in Shirley's soul. Not that he didn't want to be dependable—he was proud that he'd never broken a confidence or made a promise he didn't keep—but it did bother him slightly to be so taken for granted. Then he shrugged it off sensibly. An off-hand comment certainly wasn't going to spoil his first night home.

* * *

The next week they celebrated Rilla's twentieth birthday. Mother and Susan seemed in shock that the last of their babies had left their teens forever. Mother, especially, kept thinking that it did not seem that long ago that she had turned twenty—"At dear old Patty's Place, with Phil and Prissy and Stella and Auntie Jimsie, and the Rusty-cat!" Rilla, dimpled and laughing and glowing with happiness, insisted that they all spend the day in sheer, irresponsible fun. So, for one day, they put the war out of their memories and were children again. They ran down to Rainbow Valley, rolled up their pant legs and tucked their skirt hems into their belts to splash in the brook, Jem and Jerry caught brook trout and Mary Vance Douglas, who had slipped away from the store for the day, fried them; Faith, Nan and Di roamed around picking flowers to decorate the table; Carl and Rilla flung themselves in a far corner watching ants—it was still hard to believe that Carl could only see out of his left eye—and Una took Walter's usual spot under the White Lady and read aloud from a book of poetry. Shirley sat back against a mossy bank and watched it all. He'd never been one to mingle with the crowd much. Already he was starting to feel some of his old dislike for noise and people. When he was flying, once he'd gotten over the initial loneliness of it, he felt peaceful, calm. Even when he was flying in the midst of combat, the cleanness of the air and freshness of the wind had invigorated him. After flying for two whole years, he really felt more at home in the clouds than he did on the earth. 

They ate the trout and a batch of Susan's monkey-faces as Rilla's birthday feast, seasoned with laughter and fun. Old jokes were brought forth again as new, Mary told some of her finest ghost stories just to make them all shiver delightedly, Jem and Jerry roughed around with each other and finally ended up falling in the brook fully clothed—it was a golden day. Then, in the evening, shortly before Susan served Rilla's favorite "silver-and-gold" cake, Ken slipped down from the House of Dreams and asked Rilla to go for a walk. The rest of the family smiled knowingly at each other as Rilla, tall and beautiful in her white dress, walked demurely down the lane beside an oddly nervous Captain Ford. It was no surprise, therefore, when the two came back a half-hour later with Rilla proudly yet shyly displaying a glittering diamond on her left hand.

Amid all the hustle and tears and congratulations, Di winked at Shirley and pulled a long face. "Looks as though you and I are the only fancy-free members of this family left! We'll be like Uncle Matthew and Aunt Marilla, growing old together, a bachelor and old maid. Maybe Uncle Davy will let us take over Green Gables!"

Shirley laughed, but he knew perfectly well that Di had met Aunt Priscilla's son Grant in Kingsport last year and been corresponding regularly with him ever since. He'd seen the envelopes lying carelessly around, and he'd overheard Nan and Di talking about it a few times when they'd forgotten he was there. No, it looked as though Di, too, would be heading for matrimony soon, and he would be the bachelor of the family. After all, to court a girl he'd have to speak to her, and while he wasn't shy, he just wasn't that fond of talking—especially not with most girls, who were silly and giggly and grating, and seemed incapable of holding a serious thought in their heads. A girl like Mother, now, _that_ he could do. But then, Shirley reflected, finding a woman like Mother would be next to impossible.

Jem made a show of inspecting Rilla's ring. He himself had given Faith a circlet of pearls—Mother's ring, in fact. She had passed it on to him as her firstborn son, and he had proudly placed it on Faith's finger immediately upon returning from the war. "Not bad, not bad, Ken," he teased, "But I think it's a little too fancy for Spider here."

"Oh Jem!" cried Rilla in exasperation. "How can you still call me that?"

He just laughed and ruffled her curls.

"When do you plan on getting married?" asked Nan practically. Shirley guessed that she was maybe a little worried that Rilla would be married before her. Not that Nan had any kind of false pride, but it would be rankling, in a small village like the Glen, to have your baby sister married first, particularly when she'd only been courting for a year and you had been since before the war. _Especially_ when you didn't even have a ring yet—Nan and Jerry had an "understanding," but nothing beyond that. Jerry hadn't wanted Nan to feel bound to him when he knew he might be killed, and now that he was home he was determined to finish his schooling before he actually proposed.

"Oh, not for a year, at least," laughed Rilla, forgetting her momentary pique at Jem. Nan's pretty face lightened slightly. "Mother always said she wanted us girls to be at least twenty-one before we got married, and Ken needs to finish his schooling and get started in his career."

"Still going to be a writer, Ken?" asked Di eagerly.

"Yes—hopefully books someday, but I'll have to start out in a newspaper, like Father did," said Kenneth. He was holding Rilla's small white hand tightly and looking down at her adoringly. Something tightened in Shirley's chest. He wasn't jealous of his little sister—not at all—but for the first time it occurred to him that it might be nice to have somebody with whom you could share your life.

The next moment the thought was gone, but the impression it left was not so easily dispelled.

Then Susan brought in the cake, all aglow with twenty candles, and everyone chorused "Happy Birthday" as Rilla leaned over, never letting go of Kenneth's hand for a moment, and blew them out. Looking at her happy face, nobody wondered for a moment what her wish had been.


	2. School Days

"Shirley!" called Rilla, running into the kitchen one early August afternoon. "There's a letter for you from Avonlea. Who's writing to you from there?"

Shirley just smiled and opened the letter. Susan and Mother had been baking—while he snuck "tastes" from the bowls—and they and Rilla watched him curiously as he quickly perused the contents. Finally he looked up, a glad light shining in his eyes.

"Susan, Mother, I've got the Avonlea school! I put in for it, but I assumed they'd give it to somebody from there, not an outsider."

Susan gaped. "Avonlea? But Shirley, dear, I thought you were putting in for the Glen school."

Shirley shrugged. He knew he could never put into words how he felt about Avonlea—the peacefulness, the calm, the steadiness there. He knew he needed that before heading off to Kingsport and Redmond next year.

Mother's eyes were shining like a girl's. Shirley knew she understood. "It makes me very happy to think that one of my children will be teaching at my old school. I'll call Green Gables tonight and see if Davy and Millie can board you." She patted his hand gently. "I think you'll be very happy in Avonlea for the year."

"I think you'll be bored," put in Rilla with a sniff. "Avonlea is a fine place to visit, but to live there for a full year? Nothing ever happens there!"

Shirley could have said that that was the very reason he wanted to go, but he didn't.

"When do you leave?" asked Susan with a sigh. He knew that she'd been looking forward to having her pet home for a whole year, but he needed to get away, even if it meant disappointing Mother Susan.

He rechecked the letter. "School begins the last week of August, so I should leave in two weeks, just so I can get settled before term starts."

"Two weeks!" exclaimed Susan in dismay. "Do you mean to tell me that after you've been home barely a month you will have to be leaving us again?" She gave a sniff and muttered something about the way the school board ran things, and had they no compassion for anybody's feelings? Then she immediately began planning out a hamper of goodies for him to take along. "For your Uncle Davy's wife may be a good cook," sounding doubtful, "but when you are getting settled in you will want something that tastes like home, and I will never, no never believe that she can make fudge and cake the way you like. I will not have you starve even if you are sixty miles away."

Shirley grinned. Susan really was an old duck.

* * *

The first day of school came all too quickly. Shirley had been living with Uncle Davy and Aunt Millie for a week, and they were spoiling him shamelessly, only too happy to do whatever they could for one of "Anne's children." Aunt Millie wasn't quite as good of a cook as Susan, but her meals were always delicious and her pies praised her in the gates. Uncle Davy took him fishing, let him help out around the farm, and never thought it odd if Shirley just wanted to take a quiet walk through the woods. Their three children, Davy Jr., Robert, and Mary, thought that "Uncle" Shirley was quite wonderful. They loved to hear stories of what it was like to fly above the clouds. 

As the time to start school approached, though, Shirley was hit by an attack of nerves such as he had never felt before, even in combat. He didn't think he had it in him to get so worked up over something. The thought of facing twenty to thirty children and actually _teach_ them was overwhelming. He was sure he couldn't do it, sure he would fail. Still, he never turned aside once he made a decision, so on the first day he gritted his teeth and started down the road to the old schoolhouse where his mother had once taught. Robert and Mary Keith went with him, chattering excitedly about the new school year. Davy Jr. was at Queens this year, and Robert was bursting with pride at being the oldest Keith in school, and to have the teacher staying at Green Gables. Shirley barely heard their talk. His face was white underneath his tan. What had he been thinking? He hated being around lots of people, hated being the center of attention, hated the very thought of speaking all day long.

Little Mary tugged at his hand. "Uncle Shirley, we're here!"

He looked up, startled out of his daze, to see that they were indeed at the old graying schoolhouse. He drew a deep breath, wrestled his heart from his throat back to its proper position in his chest, squared his shoulders, and resolutely walked inside.

Twenty-five children sat in prim little rows facing the front. Fifty eager eyes watched Shirley curiously as he strode through the rows of desks to take his place at the front. For one horrible moment, his mind was completely paralyzed. Then the trusting gaze of plump little Mary Keith fell upon him. He smiled gently back at her, feeling his confidence return in a rush.

"Good morning class. I am Mr. Blythe, your new teacher this year. When I call your name, please stand…"

* * *

Later that afternoon, Shirley sat in his small bedroom at Green Gables and wrote an account of the day to Rilla. 

"It was such a dreadful feeling, facing all those shining little faces, all expecting me to say something brilliant," he wrote, sitting comfortably at his own desk beneath a window facing out toward the Haunted Wood. "I really thought I was going to horribly embarrass myself by fainting or running away—wouldn't _that_ have made a story for all the gossips!—but then I just imagined I was Mother, and the words came together. Once I got past the first few moments I was myself again, but oh Rilla, you cannot imagine how I felt at first—me, sturdy, sensible Shirley Blythe, who didn't even think he had nerves!

"I think the year is going to go well, though, although it is hard to tell after just one day. Most of the children are fairly well-behaved and reasonably intelligent. There are one or two I've discovered that are remarkably stupid, one being the youngest daughter of Mother's old nemesis, Josie Pye. Her name is Annabelle—heavy emphasis on the _belle_—and she is as vain and coquettish a thirteen-year-old as one would ever hope not to meet. She makes eyes at all the boys, except Robert Keith, because he thinks she's 'dumb' and refuses to help her cheat on her tests. The other amazingly brainless student is Richie Andrews. Thank all the gods that ever were that Mother didn't marry Billy Andrews! Today, when I asked Richie to define 'indecorous,' he blinked his big, round eyes and said 'something that wasn't decorated!' I tell you, Rilla, it took all my resolve to keep a straight face.

"But most of the students are likeable enough. The Keiths, of course, are darling. Young Fred Wright's two children are not brilliant, but solid and dependable, just like their father. Young Fred was awfully grown-up by the time you came along, Rilla, but I remember him as being too old to play with us, but always kind and jolly just the same. His youngest daughter, little Diana, is very sweet-hearted. She's only six, you know, and the exact image of Anne Cordelia: already tall for her age, slender, dark curly hair and rosy cheeks, and darling little dimples. Aunt Millie told me that young Fred wanted to go the war with Jack, but he had to stay home and take care of his family and the farm. It ate him up when Jack came home so badly wounded. Anne Cordelia, of course, lives on the mainland now with her family, and Jack seems a perpetual bachelor, so there aren't many students from Mother's old circle of friends—just little Diana and Martin Wright, Robert and Mary, and Julia and Bella Fletcher, daughters of Mother's chum Julia Fletcher _nee_ Bell. The rest are mainly from people she at least knew. I've even got Jake Donnell's son in my class! Both his parents agree on his name, though, (Eddie), so at least I won't have any difficulties that way. Of course, Sloanes and Andrews' abound, but that was only to be expected. All in all, Rilla, I don't think I'll mind teaching. After class today, Mary looked up at me and said, 'Uncle Shirley, will you stay and be our teacher forever?' It's very hard to be anything but hopeful with a response like that."

Shirley finished the letter and looked out the window, chin held up in one firm hand as he gazed at the early evening sun tinting the tops of the spruce trees with crimson and gold. Normally his letters were as brief and straightforward as his conversation, but he knew the family would want all the gossip from Avonlea, so he had let himself go a bit. It wouldn't happen again.

He slid the letter into an envelope and set to work preparing his next day's lesson plan.


	3. Cecily

After a month had passed, Shirley felt well-established in Avonlea. Students and parents alike had come to appreciate the quiet, good-humored young man who never had to whip a pupil or even raise his voice. One calm word and a stern look was all it ever took to quell ever the worst of offenders. Even Annabelle Wright—Josie Pye had married a distant cousin of Fred Wright's, making her doubly related to Diana, as both parties used to admit with disgust—tossed her sleek brown head and told her mother that she just _couldn't_ seem to misbehave when Mr. Blythe was watching her: "It's as if he can look into my soul, Mother, and see all the bad things I've ever done, and it makes me so ashamed," ending with a dramatic shiver. Whether this was typical Pye exaggeration or not, the fact remained that one look in Shirley's clear, steady brown eyes made any miscreant stop and think twice about their deeds.

Closing up school for the weekend on the last day of September, Shirley decided to go for a walk down through Lover's Lane, and keep going through the woods at the back of the Keith farm. Accordingly, he dropped his books off at Green Gables, told Aunt Millie not to wait supper for him, and tramped off. The crisp fall air and vibrant colors of leaves just turning from summer's green to autumn's gold, crimson, orange, and brown invigorated his soul and blew the cobwebs out of his mind. Not that Shirley was wont to have cobwebs or fog, but since the war he found that he was prey to minor bouts of—soul _ache_, was the best way he could describe it. It was why he had wanted to come to Avonlea in the first place. In this place of rest and comfort he knew he would be able to heal the wounds in his spirit in a way he could never do in Glen St. Mary. Ingleside, Rainbow Valley, the House of Dreams, Four Winds…all bore too many memories, too many ghosts. Avonlea was purer, somehow.

As he treaded delicately through the woods, the stillness and reverence made him stop and catch his breath. Almost without thinking he removed his corduroy cap and clutched it in both hands and looked around with worshipful eyes. He felt close to God here, closer even than he'd felt while flying. There had been times during the war, especially after Walter's death, when he'd doubted God's existence. How could a God exist who allowed such cruelty in His creation? Now, standing in that hushed and glorious place, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that God did exist, and maybe, maybe, allowed such atrocities to happen in order to bring His wandering sheep back to Himself, to remind people of how helpless they were on their own, and to show what happened when men turned completely aside from Him.

Thinking these new and strange thoughts, Shirley didn't realize for a moment that another person had come around the corner of the path facing him. It wasn't until the new arrival gave a little gasp that he wrenched his eyes from the heavens and focused them back on the earth.

For a moment he could have thought her a dryad from one of Walter's stories. Dressed in a little crinkled brown sheath dress that showed off very shapely ankles and calves, with a gold belt looped loosely around a trim waist, and dainty little brown silk slippers, she was a vision of loveliness. Her curls, deep chestnut with hidden hints of gold flickering in the afternoon sunlight, were clustered in two little bunches behind her softly curved ears. Her features were exquisite and refined, with a soft full mouth, crimson as a late rose, faintly flushed, delicately curving cheeks, and two of the most beautiful dark blue eyes Shirley had ever seen in a woman's face. Blue! Why, blue didn't even begin to describe them. They looked like the Gulf of St. Lawrence on a stormy day, like the evening sky when the first stars began to twinkle, like dew-wet pansies or the tall blue irises Mother and Susan had at Ingleside. Added to everything else, she had an air about her, an air of remoteness and purity, as though she came from a far-off star.

He had startled her as badly as she had startled him at first. The color mounted to her cheeks, and for a moment it looked as though she was poised to flee. Shirley gathered his scattered wits and smiled cautiously at her.

"Good day," he said, very gently. "I'm so sorry to have startled you."

She hesitated for a moment, and then apparently decided to stay with a soft, tinkling laugh. "It's not your fault. I was lost in my imagination. I don't think I would have heard a troupe of elephants marching through!"

It was so like something Mother would say that Shirley forgot his reticence and lit up his face with a genuine smile. Her entire being radiated pure joy as a matching smile blossomed on her flower-like face. The race of Joseph always knew its own.

"I am Shirley Blythe," said he.

"Blythe!" she exclaimed. "Are you related to Mrs. Dr. Anne Blythe who used to live here?"

"She's my mother," answered Shirley, feeling as though he should have been surprised but somehow was not.

"Why, we are practically old friends. I am Cecily Irving. My father was one of your mother's first students."

"Irving—Paul Irving? The poet?"

"The very same."

"Why, Mother still speaks of him often!" Shirley laughed. He held out his lean brown hand and clasped Cecily's small white one gently. Her soft pink cheeks flushed to a rosy hue at the touch.

She looked up at him shyly through her long lashes. "Since our families are such good friends, may I pretend I've known you forever and call you Shirley right away?"

He let go of her hand somewhat reluctantly—and then couldn't understand why he should feel so reluctant. "Of course."

"Thank you. And you must call me Cecily." She picked up a basket he hadn't noticed before, one she must have dropped upon seeing him. "I was just collecting some leaves and branches to decorate Echo Lodge."

"May I walk you back?" asked Shirley.

She smiled up at him. "I would like that. The family will be delighted to meet you."

Shirley silently took the basket and walked along the path beside her, stealing occasional glances at her petite frame and exquisite profile, and listening with pleasure to her clear, musical voice.

"This is such a perfect day," Cecily sighed happily. "But then, every day here seems beautiful."

"Have you ever been to the Island before?"

"No, never. We were going to come a few years ago, before the war, but Grandfather Irving's health failed and Father moved us back to Boston to be near him."

"What brings you here now?" Curiosity was not normally one of Shirley's vices—or virtues—but he wanted to learn everything he could about this girl.

She smiled wistfully. "Grandfather Irving passed away this spring, and Grandmother Lavender decided she'd had enough of Boston. Father didn't think that an eighty-year-old woman should be traveling across the ocean on her own, so we've all moved back to Echo Lodge—and here we are," she ended softly.

Shirley looked up. Mother had described Echo Lodge to him before, of course, but he had never seen the quaint old sandstone building with its long, low garden and the ivy crawling over the walls. The front door was open, and as Cecily and Shirley approached, a petite, plump woman came out.

"Cecily darling, there you are! You know you aren't supposed to travel very far by yourself"—she stopped short as she saw Shirley. "Cecily, who's this?"

Shirley stepped forward and answered for himself. "Shirley Blythe, ma'am. You must be Mrs. Irving. I met your daughter in the woods and she kindly let me escort her home."

"This is Father's teacher's son, Mama," interjected Cecily. "I knew Father and Grandmother Lavender would want to meet him."

The suspicious lines on Mrs. Irving's face melted away. She beamed welcomingly at Shirley. "Of course! You must forgive me, I am rather overprotective of"—she stopped again. "Well, at any rate, we are most happy to have you here. You must come in and have supper with us."

There was nothing Shirley would have liked better, but he felt he had to protest for form's sake. "Oh no, ma'am, I wouldn't want to intrude."

"Oh, please do stay," said Cecily softly.

That settled it. "Very well, then."

"Wonderful! Come inside and meet Paul and Mother Lavender. Cecily dearest, go upstairs and lay down until supper."

"Mama, I'm not tired," Cecily protested. "I want to visit with Shirley."

Mrs. Irving quelled her daughter with a stern glance. "Cecily, go rest."

Cecily sighed once, then smiled sweetly at both of them. She kissed her mother on the cheek, fluttered her fingers at Shirley, and disappeared into the house willingly. Mrs. Irving smiled. "Even when she doesn't agree, she always does as she's told without sulking. She's such a good girl, Shirley."

He couldn't have agreed more. He let himself be drawn in to the small living room where a tall man with Cecily's face set in a masculine mold was sitting talking with a tiny, frail, white-haired old lady. Shirley knew at once that this was Paul Irving and "Sweet Miss Lavender." They welcomed him gladly and took him to their hearts at once. Nowhere had Shirley met such congenial people or friendly companions. Paul asked him about flying, and Miss Lavender wanted to know all about Mother and Father. Nor did they expect him to do all the talking. They told him about Boston during the war, and Miss Lavender had them all laughing 'til they cried with stories of what it was like crossing the St. Lawrence this time. Mrs. Irving did not speak much, but watched them all keenly, with a small smile on her face. Although Shirley would have preferred it if Cecily had been there, he was amazed at how quickly the time passed until supper was served. Cecily came back downstairs, looking like a fresh rose after her rest, and they feasted on chicken and light biscuits and green peas and some of Miss Lavender's matchless preserves. As good as the food was, though, Shirley enjoyed the company even more. He enjoyed himself thoroughly, and when he finally, reluctantly, tore himself away, he eagerly promised to return again soon. Cecily walked him to the gate.

"I'm so glad we met today, Shirley," she said softly.

"So am I," he replied, smiling down into her starry blue eyes.

"One thing," she said hurriedly. "You mustn't mind Mama sometimes if she gets a little protective of me sometimes. I had a bad bout with the 'flu two years ago, and she fusses over me still. I think it's silly, but it's just because she's worried about me. You won't mind, will you?" Her face was anxious.

Shirley could well imagine anyone being protective of this sweet girl. "I understand completely, Cecily, and I won't mind. Now, you'd better get back before she starts to worry about you being out in the night air."

She hurried back to the door. "Will we see you tomorrow?" she called.

"Yes," said Shirley simply, thinking as he turned away that nothing short of another war would keep him away.


	4. An Invitation

After that first visit to Echo Lodge, Shirley ended up spending much of his free time there. All the peace and rest he'd been craving seemed to center on the little stone house and its occupants. He liked to sit in the living room and discuss politics and world affairs with Paul; he liked to sneak into the kitchen and when Mrs. Irving was baking and steal tastes until she chased him out with a towel; he liked to help Miss Lavender prepare the garden for winter; and best of all he liked taking long walks with Cecily through the flaming autumn woods. They would go for long tamps and come back with enormous appetites and glowing eyes and rosy cheeks that caused her parents to smile and nod at each other in satisfaction. Sometimes on those walks they would talk about everything under the sun: _'Of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings.'_ For all her sweetness and reserve, once one got to know her Cecily had a keen grasp of many subjects and could discourse most eloquently on them, be it politics, the way the world was coming back together after the war, theology, literature, or even just nature. Shirley let her do most of the talking, just interjecting or word here or there to support or challenge her ideas. Many times she would quote poetry for them—sometimes her father's, sometimes from older poets. And quite often they would just walk in silence, enjoying the woods and each other.

And so golden October slipped by into grey November. Shirley's students prospered and thrived under his capable teaching. After school he would assist Mary and Robert with their schoolwork or help Uncle Davy prepare Green Gables for winter. Amid everything else, he found time at least twice a week to slip away to Echo Lodge. Mrs. Irving didn't want Cecily outside as much now that the weather was growing so much colder, but they would sit in the cozy living room by the fire and play cribbage, or Shirley would read aloud while Cecily sewed, or Cecily would read aloud while Shirley just sat and watched her.

One mild afternoon, when they were taking a walk around the bare garden, Shirley found himself telling Cecily about Walter. He hadn't been able to talk about him to anybody before, but something in the liquid sympathy of Cecily's eyes broke through his reserve.

"We weren't close—Di was his closest confidant, and after her Rilla, and Jem was his best friend—but I admired him so much," he admitted, strolling along with his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes fixed on the black treetops outlined against the stark sky. "He was the family genius—we were all so proud of him. I knew I could never do great things. I was the quiet one of the family, but I was content to live in Walter and Jem's shadows. At Queens, especially, everyone knew me as 'clever Walter Blythe's brother.' I always held my head up a little higher when people would praise Walter's talents. And it wasn't just that he was brilliant. He was so kind and gentle. Everyone loved him dearly, and admired him. When word came that he'd been killed, I thought there was some mistake—not _Walter._ It didn't—it still doesn't, in some ways—seem possible that all his potential and promise could have been cut down by that German bullet." He fell silent and shuddered, remembering those bleak days all alone at Queens, struggling to accept that his brother was dead, and yet still having to carry on.

Cecily placed a gentle hand on his arm. "We read 'The Piper,' of course, and Father said it was the best poem he'd ever seen—far better than anything he could ever write. He said it embodied the heart and soul of the cause like nothing else had. I think…I think that _that_ part of your brother, his spirit, is still alive. His body may have been killed, but the essence of who he was lives on—and will forever."

Shirley let out a deep breath. It was true. Life was too strong in Walter to have ended completely at Courcelette. His soul was still alive, still immortal, and would be so long as those he left behind 'kept faith.' He smiled down at Cecily and drew her hand through his arm. "You're a comforting little woman, Cecily."

She smiled and sighed a little, and made no reply.

* * *

Early in December, Shirley received a batch of letters from home. one was from Susan, telling him all the Glen happenings and describing the baking and knitting she had been doing lately. An easy smile lit his brown eyes as he folded the letter and put it away after reading. Susan wasn't the best letter-writer, but just reading what she wrote seemed to put him back in the Ingleside kitchen.

Rilla's letter was light-hearted and gossipy, full of details of wedding plans and the mock competition that had built up between her and Jem over who was going to get married first. Shirley chuckled as he thought of suggesting they have a double wedding. He wasn't sure who would be more indignant, Rilla and Jem or Susan!

Mother had just sent a brief note, but the contents of it sent a thrill through Shirley. He had told her, casually of course, about meeting the Irvings and visiting there occasionally. Now she wrote and asked him to invite them all to come to Glen St. Mary for the Christmas holidays! At first he was excited about the idea—he knew Paul and Miss Lavender would love seeing Mother and Dad again, and he would have a grand time showing Cecily around—but then a little burr of worry crept in.

The rest of his family was so large, so fun, so—overwhelming, that he always receded to the background around them: plain, quiet Shirley Blythe. Right now, Cecily was his friend, his own special friend, but what would happen when she met the rest of his family? Rilla would whisk her off to discuss wedding dresses and bridesmaids, Dad and Jem would tease her and make her laugh that sparkling, delighted ripple that always sent an odd thrill through Shirley, Nan and Di would ask her all about Boston and the States, and Mother and Susan would pet her and fuss over her. And once the manse people and Miss Cornelia met her, well, he, Shirley, would be pushed out entirely. He would fade into the background, like he always did. Cecily was _his_ friend; he did not want to lose that special relationship by being overshadowed as usual by his family—

Shirley got that far in his thinking before he stopped, aghast. What was wrong with him? How could he be thinking such things? How could he be so selfish? Why, he was acting like a child with a special toy, refusing to share it with anyone else. It was disgusting, and he was thoroughly ashamed of himself. He _hoped_ his family would accept and love Cecily, he _hoped_ they would take her into their hearts. He wanted his family to love her, and her to love his family.

He stood up resolutely, his mouth set in a firm line. He would go right now to Echo Lodge to invite the Irvings to Christmas, and he would do everything in his power to persuade them to come.

* * *

As it turned out, it didn't take much persuading at all. If Paul and Mrs. Irving had any thoughts of objecting, the glad light shining in Miss Lavender's eyes and the pink flush that crept into Cecily's cheeks when Shirley proposed the trip, soon convinced them. It was quickly decided that the Irvings would come a couple of days before Christmas and leave the day after New Years. Shirley had wanted to stay and talk to Cecily longer, but, caught up in the general excitement, he decided to go right back to Green Gables and 'phone Mother with the good news.

As usual, Cecily walked him to the gate. Her eyes were sparkling with cold and anticipation.

"Oh Shirley," she breathed. "Your family seems like something out of a storybook to me. I always wanted brothers and sisters, but I never had any—or even any close friends, until you came along. I was always so different from the girls in school. But Shirley"—her face clouded over suddenly—"What if they don't like me?"

Looking down at her eager and anxious face, Shirley silently reproached himself once more for even thinking about trying to keep her all to himself. "How could they help but like you?" he replied good-humoredly.

"Oh Shirley, don't tease," she pleaded. "I'm a Yankee, and I'm not at all strong or clever, and I've never been like other girls, and"—

Shirley took both her hands in a firm clasp, effectively stopping the flow of words. "Cecily Irving, you are the sweetest girl I've ever met, and my family will recognize that. You don't think they're snobs, do you?"

She blushed and pulled her hands away. "No, of course not. Oh, I'm sorry, Shirley, I'm just being silly. It's just—I want them to like me so much, that I can't help worrying that they won't." She looked up at him pleadingly. "I'm sure that doesn't make sense to you—you're always so strong and confident and sensible—but it's terribly important to me to be liked."

He wondered how confident and sensible she would have thought if she'd seen his thoughts earlier. "Just be yourself, Cecily," he said firmly. "Just be yourself, and I promise, they will love you. After all, you are one of the race that knows Joseph."

At that, she finally smiled, two dimples peeking out of the corners of her mouth. "You're right, Shirley. I won't worry any more." Gratitude shone out of her blue eyes. "What would I do without you as my friend? You're like the big brother I always wanted."

Before he could reply, Mrs. Irving called her back inside. Shirley watched until the front door closed, and then turned and trudged back to Green Gables, wondering why it would bother him so to be thought of as a "big brother" by Cecily.


	5. Anticipation

_**Author's note: **The Scripture in this chapter is taken from Psalm 8, King James Version. Thanks to all_ _who have reviewed!_

December was a splendid month that year. Snow fell early on and stayed, covering the land in a soft white blanket as if creation was suddenly ashamed of all the ugliness that had marred it in the last few years. Everywhere the world seemed to be whispering of better times coming, of Christmas! Shirley had a very hard time keeping his students focused on their work; their hearts just weren't in it. He couldn't really blame them. As the time drew nearer for him to leave for the Glen, he grew more and more anxious about Cecily's visit. He wanted her to have a wonderful time—he truly, honestly did—and yet there was still that nagging worry that she wouldn't like him as much once she met the rest of the family. He told himself he was being ridiculous, childish, and petty, but he couldn't quite shake it. He just didn't think he could bear to lose her friendship.

Finally, however, school ended for the term, two weeks before Christmas. As Shirley released the children, they all went tearing off shouting into the white world. He laughed a little as he closed up the schoolhouse, remembering being young and waiting desperately for the holiday season to begin.

Green Gables was all a-bustle, getting ready for the upcoming celebrations. Robert and Mary were bitterly disappointed that Uncle Shirley wasn't going to be staying, but Davy Jr.'s return from Queens comforted them somewhat. Shirley set his bag out by the door—Aunt Millie had offered to pack it for him, but no boy raised by Susan Baker ever needed assistance in packing properly—rang up Echo Lodge to make sure everything was in order for them to follow him in a week and a half, and then spent his last night at Green Gables popping corn, stringing cranberries, weaving garland, and helping to transform the prim old farmhouse into a place of wonder and beauty for the next three weeks. For a moment, as he watched Mary eating as much popcorn as she strung, and Robert huddle in the corner working on one of his presents, and smelling the aroma of Millie's baking, a thought flitted through his mind that he would enjoy doing this with a family of his own. He almost could see the scene before him: putting up the Christmas tree and decorating it with the children, reading them the Christmas story from the Gospel of St. Luke, reciting 'The Night Before Christmas,' putting up decorations and eating holiday treats with a wife and children of his own.

He shook his head and came back to earth. He certainly couldn't even think about getting married yet. He had at least four years at Redmond, and then he would have to get a job and be well-established before he could think about supporting a family. Besides, he couldn't think of marrying any of the girls he knew. Why, he didn't even know how to begin being romantic! No, if he got married at all, it would be far, far in the future.

For a moment a pair of beautiful blue eyes floated before his memory, but the squeals of little Mary as the two Davy's brought in the beautiful little fir tree drove them away before he could recognize them.

* * *

Ingleside was all hustle and flow when Shirley got back. Not only were the Irvings coming for Christmas, but Aunt Diana, Uncle Fred, and Jack were coming as well. The Fords were making a flying trip from Toronto to the House of Dreams for the holidays, and Di, having finally admitted to her family about Grant, had persuaded him to come home with her from Kingsport, Japan being too far away for a short visit.

Mother, Susan, Aunt Leslie and Rilla were in their glory, baking, cooking, planning, and decorating. Dad and Uncle Owen spent most of their time either going for snowshoe tramps outside or hiding away in Dad's study. Persis, Faith, Una, Nan, and Di were running around doing all kinds of shopping, and Jem, Jerry, Grant, Carl and Ken had the all-important task of finding three perfect Christmas trees. Amid all the hustle, Shirley slipped away from Susan's overjoyed and floury welcome and up to Jem's room. Because they were having so many guests, he and Grant and Jack would be bunking with Jem, and Rilla, Nan, and Di had all crowded together. Cecily would be put in with them when she got there. It was going to be a full house, but after so many years of sorrow and emptiness, everyone from Mother and Dad down to Gog and Magog seemed to revel in it. Sometimes, amid the ceaseless banter and talk, a hush would fall, reminding everyone of their losses—not just their physical losses, but the loss of an innocent world, the loss of a carefree life. Oddly enough, those moments did nothing to dampen anybody's spirits, but rather deepened their joy, rounded it out, so to speak, as if the happiness they now felt was all the sweeter when compared to their former horrors.

Then too, Shirley reflected, there is something about a peace you've earned, rather than one you take for granted, that is far more satisfying.

The day after he got home he went down to the village to finish his own Christmas shopping, taking along Persis and Rilla, even though Persis's stunning beauty and worldly sophistication always slightly alarmed him. Dad lent them the car so they wouldn't have to carry all their packages back on their own, and he drove silently into the village with the two laughing and chattering girls in the backseat behind him.

Buying presents for the family wasn't so hard. Susan's, he already had—a framed picture taken of him overseas in his uniform, standing next to his airplane, and a new knitting basket Aunt Millie had helped him find. He found a silver hairbrush and comb set for Rilla, a medical dictionary for Jem, poetry books for the twins, a pearl brooch for Mother and silver cuff links for Dad—but he couldn't think what to get Cecily. He enjoyed giving presents to people, using his knowledge of them and their likes and dislikes to give them something they'd treasure forever, and especially seeing their surprised reactions when they saw how perfectly he'd matched what they wanted. For Cecily, however, he was in a quandary. He couldn't get her something too personal—that would be improper. But he couldn't get her something boring and impersonal, not after they had become such good friends.

One by one, everything else fell into place: silver candlesticks for the manse folk—despite all the improvements Mrs. Meredith had made, it was still always dark and gloomy over there, a little sculpture of a sailing ship for the Fords to put up in the House of Dreams, a set of elegant new placemats for the Wrights, and a backgammon set for the Irvings, who were avid game-players. But the time was drawing near for him to meet the girls, and he still hadn't found anything for Cecily. He supposed he could just add her name to the backgammon game, but he wanted to find her something special, just for her. He checked his watch and decided he had time for one last stroll through Carter Flagg's store before he needed to be back at the automobile.

Mary Vance Douglas was in there, waiting on customers by telling them exactly what she thought they needed to buy. Most submitted quite meekly, but Mrs. Norman Douglas looked fully prepared to launch into an argument with her. Gratefully, Shirley slipped around the corner to avoid being seen. Mary's cock-sure manner and loud tones always grated on him; he was grateful to Mrs. Norman for distracting her.

He happened to look down and realized he was standing at the jewelry counter. His gaze moved disinterestedly over the bangles, clip earrings, and long bead necklaces. He was about to turn away when he saw something tucked away in a corner. He peered closer.

It was a gold cuff bracelet, engraved along its length with curving runic lines, and studded here and there with several lapis lazuli. Shirley suppressed an exclamation of delight. The deep blue stones with gold flecks were a perfect match for Cecily's eyes. The whole thing was stunning yet delicate; it drew the eye but didn't flaunt itself. It was, he decided, the perfect gift. Checking to make sure Mrs. Norman was still distracting Mary—the two women were at it furiously, with Mrs. Norman booming in her deep voice and gesticulating wildly toward one brand of sugar while Mary tried to forcibly place a different kind in her basket—Shirley called Carter over and asked to have the bracelet wrapped.

Slipping the precious parcel into his pocket, Shirley escaped from the store without even being seen by the defeated Mary, who was now sourly placing the desired brand of sugar in a decidedly triumphant Mrs. Norman's basket, and wended his way to the car to wait for the girls. They actually managed to get back on time, and they all went back to Ingleside, Shirley's satisfaction at having found the perfect present enabling him to actually joke and laugh with the girls, to their amazement. Rilla, especially, couldn't understand the change in her brother. She supposed he was just happy to be back among friends after a dull fall and winter in Avonlea.

* * *

The Wrights arrived later that week: Uncle Fred, as jolly as ever despite the new lines in his face and the worried look in his eyes, Aunt Diana, whose blacks curls were frosted over with grey, still as loving and sweet, and still looking like an older, plumper version of Anne Cordelia and Little Diana, and Jack, who appeared far older than his thirty years. He had been badly wounded in the war, as evidenced by the scar that traveled across the right side of his forehead, crawled down his nose, and puckered his left cheek. A corresponding streak of hair on the right side of his head was completely white. Shirley knew there were more scars hidden on Jack's body, but far worse than the physical damage was the smoldering bitterness in his eyes. Shirley remembered Jack as being full of fun and mischief, always up to something.

The war. Everything came back to the war. There was nobody whose life had not been altered by it. Many for the worse, but some—Shirley's eyes wandered toward Rilla—for the better. Like everything in life, what you learned from it depended on your attitude.

Mother and Aunt Diana were thrilled to see each other, and as the day passed even Jack started to lighten up a bit. The next few days were full of fun, but Shirley started to get nervous as the time drew nearer for the Irvings to arrive. He and Jack spent quite a bit of time together, each content to let the other wander in his thoughts. The others noticed this and began joking about the two old bachelors. All except Susan. She knew her little brown boy, and she knew he had something on his mind. However, she also knew well enough that he wouldn't speak of it until he was good and ready—which might be never—so she kept her mouth shut and her eyes open.

Finally the Irvings came. Mother and Aunt Diana and Miss Lavender fell into each other's arms and laughed and cried and talked all at once. Paul twinkled his eyes at Dad.

"By Christmas, maybe, they'll remember the rest of us."

Just then Mother turned and hugged and exclaimed over Paul, and was delighted to meet his wife and daughter. Introductions were made all around, and then Mrs. Irving—who insisted that everyone call her Rachel—said that Cecily needed to rest until supper. Cecily plainly didn't think she did, but as usual she acquiesced with a sweet smile and no complaining.

"I'll take her up," offered Nan, looping her arm through Cecily's. The two whisked off up the stairs, followed eagerly by Di. The twins obviously felt that they had just been handed a new living doll.

Shirley, hovering in the background with Jack and Susan, felt his heart sink. It was as he had feared. The family was taking over, and he had barely had a chance to say "hello." It wasn't anybody's fault—his family couldn't help the fact that they were all so gregarious and loving, (in fact, it was one of the things he loved most and was proudest of about them), and it wasn't his fault he was so quiet and retiring, and it certainly wasn't Cecily's fault she fit in so well. It was just the way things happened.

Susan, unobtrusively studying her boy out of the corner of her eye, felt her own heart sink a little as he wistfully watched the Yankee girl disappear up the stairs. "It's happening," she murmured to herself. "Providence may have ordained me to be an old maid, but I still have eyes to see. He doesn't know it yet—she certainly doesn't—but it's happening, all the same. My baby—my wee little baby—but why, under heaven, did it have to be a Yankee?" And she sighed heavily to herself.

* * *

As it turned out, Shirley need not have worried. Although she adored the Blythes as much as they adored her, Cecily made no secret of her preference for Shirley. In a no-nonsense, child-like way, she made it quite clear that, while she enjoyed spending time with the other, she was first and foremost Shirley's friend. The family soon almost unconsciously recognized this and backed off a bit. Even Susan, who was won over to Cecily despite the fact that she was a "Yankee," started inviting her into the kitchen and telling her stories of Shirley when he was a little boy. With Susan, approval and acceptance could go no further.

On Christmas Eve there was a skating party at the Glen pond. At first Rachel had declared that Cecily couldn't go, but upon seeing her disappointed face, Dad put it a good word for her. Rachel was much impressed by the knowledgeable Dr. Blythe, and relented, saying that Cecily could go as long as she was back by ten.

Dressed in think woolen tights, a short red skirt, brown wool jacket, and very jaunty red cap, Cecily walked brightly beside Shirley to the pond. It was a perfect night, cold, clear, and still. They could see the large bonfire by the pond, and hear the cries and laughter of the skaters already arrived. Jem and Faith, both avid skaters and quiet graceful together, had left early and were already there. Out of the rest of their group, only Rilla, Ken, Una, and Jack were missing. None of them enjoyed skating, and Rilla and Ken had wanted to spend Christmas Eve with Aunt Leslie and Uncle Owen. Jerry and Nan were walking together, arguing earnestly about politics, Di and Grant were walking silently and dreamily, Carl was striding along sturdily on his own, Persis was in a merry group of girls, and Shirley and Cecily were coming along behind the rest, the latter crimson-cheeked from excitement.

"I love to skate," she confessed to Shirley. "When I was little, I dreamed of skating in the Olympics, like Madge Syers, but of course, I wasn't ever that good."

"What do you like about it?" queried Shirley, who was a passable skater, but had never worked up any enthusiasm for the sport.

"I—I don't know quite how to explain it," Cecily said, looking down a bit embarrassedly. "It's just—I feel so free, like I'm leaving all my troubles behind. I get lost in the movements, and sometimes, I even feel like I'm soaring."

Shirley smiled. "I guess we both like to fly, then."

Cecily looked surprised, and then laughed. "I guess we do!"

They reached the pond, put on their skates, and set out. Cecily was indeed a beautiful skater. Not only could she skate well with a partner, hands clasped in front and legs moving in unison, she also could trace marvelous patterns and figures on the ice, and perform many complicated steps and even a few small jumps and spins. Coming from most girls it would have looked like showing off, but Cecily's pure joy in what she was doing contradicted that idea.

With everyone having such a good time, it was hard to leave by ten, but they managed. Di had twisted her ankle slightly, so she and Grant walked back with Shirley and Cecily. Grant, tall and fair-haired like his mother, quoted suddenly from the book of Psalms, his melting voice rolling richly into the night.

"O Lord our Lord, how excellent is thy name in all the earth! Who hast set thy glory above the heavens…When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and stars, which thou hast ordained; what is man, that thou art mindful of him? And the son of man, that thou visitest him? For thou hast made him a little lower than the angels and hast crowned him with glory and honour…O Lord our Lord, how excellent is thy name in all the earth!"

In reverent silence, they walked through the silent night.

Once inside, there was time for a quick cup of cocoa by the fire while Shirley pretended to shake, pinch, smell, and feel all his presents to guess what they were, until Di forgot her bad ankle and chased him around the room.

"Now, now," admonished Shirley with his brown eyes twinkling. "Be careful, Diana Blythe, or you'll only receive coal in your stocking tomorrow."

Grant smiled mischievously. "That's right, if you're not a good little girl Santa Claus won't bring you any presents."

"Do you remember how frightened you used to be of Santa Claus?" Di laughed, running a hand through her bobbed red curls.

Shirley smiled. "Yes, and the time Dad's false beard caught on fire from the tree candles!"

Amid their laughter, Dad popped his head over the banister, trying to look stern. "You children may not mind keeping Santa Claus away by staying up all night, but I for one want my presents in the morning!"

"Yes, Dad," laughed Di. They quickly finished their cocoa and headed upstairs, each with a pleasant consciousness that tomorrow was going to be very fun indeed.


	6. A Revelation

**_Author's note:_**_ This will be my last update for a bit, as my husband and I are moving, and packing and unpacking will take up all my time. I'll get back to it when I can! Thanks to all who have reviewed, you all are so kind!

* * *

_

"Happy Christmas!" "Happy Christmas!" "_Joyeux Noel!_" "Merry Christmas!"

The sun had barely peeped up over the frosty horizon, and already Ingleside rang with joyous cries as its inhabitants scrambled out of their beds and into their Christmas clothes.

"Our first Christmas back together as a family!" exclaimed Di, looking quite festive in a green plaid slim skirt and frilly white shirtwaist, with a perky green bow holding her curls back from her head. She threw her arm around Shirley's shoulders as they trooped downstairs. "Do you suppose we'll have any more like this?"

"Why not?" asked Shirley laconically.

Di shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. It just seems that we're all growing up now and living out own lives. Things can't ever stay the same."

"Sounds like you were up too late last night," commented Nan pertly, following them down the stairs.

"Oh, and you weren't? I saw you come in after talking with Jerry until one in the morning, Anne Blythe."

Nan blushed and tossed her head. Unlike Di, she hadn't gone with popular fashion, and had kept her brown locks long. Today they were pulled back in a simple chignon and woven through with a red ribbon to match her wool dress.

"Now, now, girls," admonished Jem, limping along behind them. His leg hardly ever bothered him now, but it was stiff sometimes in the early morning. "This is the season is love and peace. Let's all be nice." He pulled them all into a hug, nearly knocking the whole group down the stairs.

Laughing and chattering, they made their way to the dining room for a merry, noisy breakfast of Susan's magnificent cinnamon rolls and bacon and cocoa. After the last crumb of bacon was devoured, they all adjourned to the living and got down to the business of opening presents.

The pile under the white-and-gold tree, sparkling with lit candles, was smaller this year than it used to be. Although there weren't as many gifts, nor were they as expensive or elaborate as previous Christmases, much love and thought had gone into them all. Shirley smiled at the knitted grey scarf and matching mittens from Susan. Mother, Dad, and Jem had all gone in together to get him a book on aviation, the Wrights got him an elegant fountain pen—"For correcting all those papers," laughed Uncle Fred, and the Irvings had gotten him a brand-new pair of skates. His had been passed down from Jem to Walter to him, and he exchanged a warm glance with Cecily as he thanked them all.

All the other gifts were just as thoughtful, although there were, as always, a few joke presents. Everyone roared with laughter when Di eagerly opened a tastefully wrapped box from Grant, only to find that it contained a single lump of coal! After she was done scolding him, the handsome young man handed over her real gift—a beautiful screen painting of red and white plum blossoms from Japan. Di melted and forgave him at once.

Even Jack lightened up during the fun family celebration. He laughed with all the rest when Jem opened a metal box with broken glass inside. That young man was worse than Shirley in shaking his presents to find what they were, and the twins and Rilla had conspired to make him think he'd broken his gift the first time he shook it. Jem laughed with the rest, his hazel eyes twinkling with fun. Jack actually gave Mother a genuine smile when he opened her gift of a copy of Thoreau's _Walden._ Shirley wouldn't have thought him to be so fond of Thoreau, but his dark, brooding face lightened perceptibly as he kissed Mother on the cheek. Shirley saw Aunt Diana whisk out a handkerchief and mouth a silent "thank you" to Mother.

Finally, all the gifts were opened, the living room tidied, and everyone went their separate ways before Christmas dinner. Jem and Nan walked down to the Merediths, Rilla darted away to see Ken, Di and Grant took a walk down to the harbor, Mother, Susan and Aunt Diana pulled forth their knitting—Susan proudly displaying her new basket—Rachel and Miss Lavender followed suit with some delicate lacework, Dad, Paul, Uncle Fred and Jack disappeared into the study, and Shirley took Cecily for a walk in Rainbow Valley.

"What fun you must have all had growing up here," said Cecily, looking around at the snow-filled hollows and frosted trees with delight. "I can almost see you all playing as children—trying out your new mittens and scarves and toboggans, throwing snowballs and building forts and snowmen."

"Yes, they did do all that," mused Shirley absently, thinking how dainty Cecily looked in her navy wool coat with the wide fur collar.

"They?" she queried. "Not you?"

Shirley blushed a little. "I never played much with the rest of them. I generally preferred to be on my own or helping Susan. They all had such grand imaginations and wild schemes. I was too practical and down-to-earth to fit in with their games and dreams. Dad says I'm like his father; I don't know, maybe I am."

"I see," said Cecily simply, her great eyes very wise.

Shirley changed the subject. Talking about himself always made him uncomfortable. "Here, I got this for you." He drew the small silver-foil wrapped from his pocket and placed it in her gloved hands.

She caught her breath. "For me? Oh Shirley! I don't know what to say!"

He couldn't help but grin a little. "You haven't even opened it yet."

It was her turn to blush now. She hurried to unwrap it. When she saw the gold cuff bracelet laying on a bed of cotton, the blue lapis lazuli glinting in the winter sun, she gasped. "Shirley! It's absolutely beautiful! Oh, it's the loveliest thing I've ever seen." She pushed up the furred cuff of her coat sleeve and slid the bracelet around her wrist. She looked up at him with shining eyes. "Thank you."

Shirley cleared his throat uncomfortably. "It just looked like you, somehow."

Her expression turned to one of distress. "But I didn't get you anything!"

"Just having you here is present enough," he said sincerely.

* * *

Later that afternoon, when Cecily had gone in to rest before dinner, Shirley was strolling casually around the lawn when he heard his name from the kitchen. With no thought of eavesdropping, he stopped, curious. People at Ingleside—and elsewhere—rarely spoke about him. 

Because of the heat from the oven, Susan had opened a window and was speaking with Mother and Aunt Diana.

"Believe me, Mrs. Dr. dear, that boy is in love," she said emphatically. "Do I not know? Is he not my own boy whom I raised from a baby?"

"And he's over at Echo Lodge all the time," floated out Aunt Diana's voice. "Millie says they never see him at Green Gables anymore; he rushes over to Echo Lodge as soon as school is done and stays there until dark."

"Oh, I suppose you're right," sighed Mother. "It's just hard for me to believe that our sensible, practical Shirley could fall in love."

"Even the most sensible people are susceptible to love, Mrs. Dr. dear," said Susan, "Or at least that is my observation, never having had the good fortune to fall in love myself, though I did receive one proposal of marriage."

"Yes," laughed Aunt Diana, "And then their good sense goes right out the window."

"And that Cecily is a sweet girl, Yankee though she may be," finished Susan, plainly determined to not be cheated out of her whole thought.

The conversation in the kitchen went on, but Shirley heard none of it. He wandered in a daze to the verandah, absently brushed the snow off one of the seats, and collapsed, his elbows on his knees and his hands gripping his hair so hard it hurt.

_Could_ he be in love with Cecily? Was he? He didn't think he was, but according to the three women in the kitchen, he was showing all the signs of it. He'd never even thought of falling in love with Cecily. He just thought she was the sweetest, dearest, kindest person he'd ever met, and he wanted to protect her from anything bad or unpleasant in the world, and he wanted to be near her all the time—

He stopped short. "I am in love with her!"

He couldn't believe he hadn't recognized the symptoms—jealously, wanting to find her a special gift, wanting to be near her, needing to know he was dear to her—they were all there, and he had missed them.

"So what now?" he muttered, knitting his brow in puzzlement. What did people normally do when they were in love? He thought about Jem and Faith, Nan and Jerry, Rilla and Ken. He supposed he should start to court her, but…

Suddenly Aunt Diana's words came to mind: _"And then their good sense goes right out the window."_ He sprang to his feet, determined not to lose _his_ good sense just because he had happened to fall in love without realizing it. He would think this through calmly and logically, and then come to a decision about his next course of action. That might not be the romantic way, but it was the Shirley Blythe way.


	7. Decisions

Christmas was over. 1919 had gone out in a wild blizzard, and 1920 had begun. Nan went back to her school in Lowbridge, Faith to Harbour Head, Di to Carmody, and Jem, Jerry, Grant, Una and Carl all went back to Kingsport. The Fords went back to Toronto, taking Rilla with them for a visit, and the Wrights, Irvings, and Shirley all went back to Avonlea together. Shirley was looking forward to teaching again, but he knew he had an unpleasant task and hard road looming ahead of him. He hadn't been able to work up the nerve to speak with Cecily when they were all still at Ingleside, but he couldn't put it off any longer.

He rose from his seat next to Jack and made his way back through the train car to where Cecily and Miss Lavender were sitting. Miss Lavender was napping, but Cecily's eyes brightened as Shirley sat in the empty seat across the aisle. His resolve almost gave way at the sight of her smile, but he hardened his heart and drew a deep breath.

"It was a good vacation, wasn't it?" he began casually.

"Yes, it was," replied Cecily eagerly. "I had a marvelous time. Your family is all so kind."

"I'm glad." Shirley steeled himself. "This fall and winter have been quite pleasant, overall. I just wish it could last."

"What do you mean?" asked Cecily, a puzzled look crossing her lovely face. "Why can't it?"

"Well, I'm going off to Redmond next fall, so this spring I'll be very busy trying to brush up on my studies. I took the third year at Queen's, so I'll be able to enter Redmond as a sophomore, which means I'll have to work very hard now to make sure I'm at my classmates' level." His honest brown eyes looked straight into her pure blue ones. "I'm afraid I won't have much time for visiting. You won't be seeing much of me at Echo Lodge this term."

Disappointment shadowed Cecily's delicate features, but she immediately mustered up a smile. "Why Shirley, we'll miss you, of course, but naturally we all want you to do well at Redmond. You just do what you need to do, and never mind about us." She reached over with her small gloved hand and patted his arm understandingly.

Shirley forced a smile, muttered a few commonplaces, and went back to his seat, thankful that Jack was so quiet. He had never been good at subtlety; he always felt uncomfortable and out-of-place trying to use it, but he couldn't have told Cecily his real reason for wanting—no, needing—to avoid Echo Lodge.

After much thought and prayer over the last week, he had concluded that he had no right—at that time—to confess his feelings to Cecily. She was only seventeen, which was too young to ask her to make a commitment, and he would be leaving soon for college. The timing was all wrong for him to ask to court her. He would wait until he had at least a year of college out of the way, and then, he felt, he would be in a much better position to offer her his heart. It was the only logical and practical thing to do, and yet for all that, there was an odd ache in his heart, one that couldn't be reasoned away, one that had only been made worse by the look of disappointment on Cecily's face when he told her he wouldn't be by Echo Lodge much anymore.

But, he told himself sternly, it was all for the best, and he wasn't going to let emotions interfere with his common sense. He tilted his felt hat over his eyes and tried to doze off and forget about the lonely few months he saw looming before him.

* * *

It _was_ a lonely winter and spring, despite the coziness of Green Gables and the amusements and enlightenments of school. Shirley resolutely studied for Redmond in the evenings, or strolled over to the Wrights to visit with Jack, but he only went out to Echo Lodge once, on an unusually balmy day in February. After that, no matter how much he longed to return, he made himself stay away. It was just too hard to be with Cecily and not tell her how he felt. To his honest nature, it felt as though he was lying every time they spoke.

The months slipped by, and finally it was June. Shirley's students acquitted themselves marvelously o their year-end examinations—even Annabelle Wright and Richie Andrews did well enough. The children were all very upset that their soft-spoken, good-humored teacher wasn't returning next year. Mary Keith and Little Diana Wright were especially inconsolable. Shirley himself was startled to find that he was going to miss teaching. He had taken it on as a chance to start a younger generation off right, and despite his eagerness to get to college, he hated to leave them all behind, even the unlovable ones.

After attending a slew of farewell dinners, he went back to Echo Lodge to say goodbye to the folks there. He was leaving for Glen St. Mary in the morning, but it seemed churlish not to at least bid farewell to the Irvings, after they had been such good friends to him. He would just have to master his feelings for Cecily, that was all.

He was spared, however, the necessity of doing so, for Cecily had been taken ill with a bad spring cold and was confined to her bed. Miss Lavender was sitting with her, so Shirley was only able to make his goodbyes to Paul and Rachel. They were very friendly, but Shirley sensed an undercurrent of worry flowing between them. Unable to puzzle out what had caused it, and not wanting to trespass on their time, he rose to leave fairly early. Rachel kissed him on the cheek and told him to take care of himself at college; Cecily sent Miss Lavender tripping down the stairs to bid him a fond farewell.

Paul walked him out to the gate. By mutual accord the two men just stood there for a moment, leaning on the gate and drinking in the soft evening air. Paul's lips moved soundlessly as he perhaps began to compose a poem based on the golden and turquoise sunset and the soft scent of roses wafting through the breeze.

The sunset, the roses, or something, caused Shirley to lose his head. Facing Paul, he suddenly blurted out: "Sir—I—I love Cecily. I know I have nothing yet to offer her, and she is very young, but I do plan to come back here in a year or two and—and court her, if you and Rachel approve, that is," he ended lamely, suddenly feeling very awkward and foolish. What had come over him to make him spill everything out like that? He hadn't even told Mother or Susan yet.

Paul looked at him appraisingly for a long moment, causing Shirley to flush redder and redder. Then he smiled his beautiful, sweet smile—so much like his daughter's—and said: "Son, as far as I'm concerned you have my blessing. I appreciate you speaking with me first; it's a courtesy many ignore these days, and I also appreciate the good sense and maturity you've shown in making the decision to wait a few years. Not many would do it. You are a sensible, good-hearted young man, and I know you'll do right by my little girl."

Relief flowed warmly all through Shirley, mixed with a little embarrassment at hearing himself praised so freely. He spoke quietly, master of himself once more. "Thank you."

Paul hesitated, then spoke again. "I have to warn you, Shirley, her health isn't very good. She has always been prone to colds, and she's never been very strong."

"I understand," replied Shirley gravely. "I'll take good care of her."

"I know," said the great poet, smiling again. "You already do."

They said goodnight, and Shirley walked back to Green Gables in a happy daze. He would have a restful summer at home—a year at Redmond—next summer he would confess his feelings to Cecily—they would court for the next two years—he would graduate and find work and they would be married, and everything would be wonderful. He could see it all unfold like a moving picture, clear and bright before his eyes. He never once doubted that it would come to pass.


	8. A Redmond Year

"Well, here we are, old man," said Carl cheerfully, as he and Shirley stepped off the train. "We'll collect our bags and be off to our house in a jiffy. Jem and Jerry said they'd meet us with a cab, but I'm guessing they'll have forgotten. No surprise if they have!"

The two of them had come to Kingsport alone, Jem and Jerry having had to come a week earlier for their line of study—medicine and law, respectively. Una had accompanied Carl the previous year, but she was back at the manse now, helping Faith prepare for married life, her year-long Household Science course over and done with.

Shirley followed Carl quietly, glad of his friend's easy chatter. New experiences were always difficult for him, and he was already feeling somewhat nauseous with all the bodies crowding around them in the station. Nervous Freshmen, wandering around with panic-stricken looks in their eyes, self-important Sophomores, sneering openly at the inexperienced first-timers, Juniors and Seniors who brushed past everyone else as they weren't worthy of attention, all swirled and eddied around the two boys.

Shirley really didn't expect to see Jem and Jerry either; they were both so busy that they barely had time to remember to eat, much less pick up their little brothers, but just as he and Carl stepped out of the station, bags in hand, they saw Jerry coming toward them.

"You made it!" he called, waving his hand. "Sorry we're late. Everything is just plain crazy today! It'll be bad all week, 'til everyone gets settled in. Follow me, lads, Jem's waiting with the cab to make sure no one else takes it." He grabbed one of Carl's bags and set off to where Jem was awaiting them impatiently.

"You'll love the little house we're renting," said Jerry to Shirley as they rode off. "There are only three bedrooms—you and Carl will have to share—you don't mind, do you?"

"As long as Carl keeps the bugs and snakes out of my side," laughed Shirley.

"I told Jerry that he and Jem should share," put in Carl, "But he insisted that the two of them needed their privacy. For what, I'm not sure, unless it's writing long letters to their sweethearts."

Jem and Jerry's voices mixed and mingled in an indignant babble as Carl laughed softly, satisfied to have gotten a rise out of them. After their fury had spent itself, Jem continued telling Shirley about their "digs," as he expressed it.

"It's not much to speak of," he admitted. "Last year Una came by quite a bit and cooked and cleaned for us"—

"Class assignments," interjected Jerry.

"But we're definitely baching it this year," finished Jem.

Shirley shrugged. "Not to worry. Susan's sure to send plenty of goodies. If you're all nice to me, I might even share them with you."

"Besides that," Jem said, grinning, "Think of how impressed our wives will be when they find out we know how to cook and clean."

"Welcome to the new world," added in Jerry. "The husbands can keep house and the wives can have careers. But for tonight, I suggest we go to a restaurant after you boys get settled. I'm starved, and I don't fancy Carl's cooking. It's almost as bad as army rations—or Aunt Martha's ditto."

Laughing and joking, the four young men showed Shirley the tiny but tidy house and they headed back into town. Shirley was relieved to finally be at Redmond. He hoped, with a busy schedule and a good deal of studying, to be able to put Cecily out of his mind. The summer had been a depressing one, with everyone else busy and lively with their life plans, and him just quietly waiting for school to start. He knew that Mother and Susan were worried about him, but he chose not to confide in them. No, it had been a lonely summer, and he was glad to be moving forward with his goals once more.

* * *

Life soon settled into a routine for the four boys. They all paid tribute to their upbringing by taking equal turns with the cooking and cleaning; while nothing was fancy, it was neat and livable. Susan would have been proud. Aunt Martha, dead these many years, would have been shocked. 

College also fell into place. Shirley found that the studying he had done in Avonlea stood him in good stead. He was able to keep near the top of all his classes with relative ease. Carl, of course, was head of all the Sophomore science classes, although his skills in other departments—such as Literature and Philosophy—were lacking. Except for mealtimes, they rarely saw Jem or Jerry. Jem was in his last year of medical school and determined to graduate well. Jerry had another year after that, but was already striving to make a name for himself.

And so the days slipped by. At first, Shirley had to firmly restrain himself from writing to Cecily, or thinking of her constantly. As his days got busier it became easier, but he saw no girls in Kingsport to even come close to Cecily's charm. Several of the girls in his classes were quite pretty and nice, but there was no one like Cecily.

Carl, despite his penchant for still keeping bugs and other creatures in his pockets—there was quite an uproar in Mathematics class one day when a small mouse leapt out of Carl's jacket and scampered off across everyone's feet—was quite popular with girls and boys both. He could almost always be found in the center of a merry crowd between classes. Much of his free time was spent with a large group of chums. He always generously offered to include Shirley in the group, but that young man definitely preferred solitude. Thus far, he hadn't met anyone at college with whom he wished to become better acquainted.

* * *

Finishing classes for the day toward the end of his first term, Shirley left for the library—his favorite place to study. As he walked, his long strides quickly brought him alongside another Redmond student. Shirley had noticed him in some of his classes, but only because this young man seemed as reluctant as Shirley himself to speak or be the center of attention. As they drew level with each other, Shirley surprised himself by speaking. 

"Hello."

The young man looked over at him and smiled. "Hello." He was fairly short—certainly well below six feet—and rather squarely built. But he had a very pleasant face, and when he smiled, it lit him up from inside and crinkled his blue eyes at their corners.

For a moment it looked as though they had said all they were going to, but them the other spoke again.

"I'm Patrick Samuels."

"Shirley Blythe."

"Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise."

They walked in silence for a few more steps. Then Shirley said: "You're a sophomore at Redmond, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am," replied Patrick. "You are too, correct?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Going to the library?"

"Yes. You?"

"It's the only place I can study."

"Same here."

And with that, the two were friends.

Patrick's personality was very similar to Shirley's. He was very quiet, very reserved, but not shy or self-conscious on any way. His sense of humor tended to be more evident than Shirley's, and he was quite apt to break up any serious discussion with a quick quip, eyes twinkling merrily, that sent everybody into fits of laughter. He disliked pointless frivolity, though, and so tended to avoid most of the social gatherings at Redmond.

He had grown up out west, Shirley discovered, but had sold the family farm and come east to college after his parents had died. He had just completed his first year at Redmond when the war broke out. He joined the Royal Canadian Navy at once, and served with distinction, was wounded badly in the leg during the last days of fighting—Shirley had noticed the slight limp—and had to spend quite a few months healing in a military hospital, before being sent to a convalescent home to fully recover. Hence, he was only able to return to school now.

Despite the differences in backgrounds and ages—Patrick had twenty-nine years to Shirley's twenty-two—the two formed a firm friendship. They met in the library every day to study together and share anecdotes from their classes. Shirley was thankful to have found a friend. It made his separation from Cecily just a little easier to bear.

* * *

"Our last test!" exclaimed Shirley as he and Patrick emerged from the stuffy classroom. "To think this year is over and done with. It feels like it barely began." 

"Maybe it does to you," said Patrick, grimacing. "To me it seems interminably long."

Shirley gave his friend a slow, evaluating glance. "You're not looking forward to the summer, are you?" he asked shrewdly.

Patrick shrugged moodily. "Oh, I'm glad enough, I suppose. But I don't have a family to return to, like you do. I'll have to stay here in Kingsport and work for my board over the summer and wait for classes to start up again. He flashed his wide smile suddenly, showing one of the quick mood changes to which he was subject. "It won't be so bad, I suppose. Maybe I'll meet some pretty girl and we'll hit it off." His lament over his single status was a standing joke between the two of them.

"Any girls you meet are likely to have buck teeth and adenoids," quipped Shirley. He added impulsively, "Why don't you come home with me for the summer?"

Patrick looked startled. "Really?"

Shirley nodded casually. "Sure. Mother and Dad won't mind. Everything will be chaos anyway, with Jem and Faith's wedding coming off in July. One more person will hardly be noticed—and I could use someone sane around the place to keep me company."

Patrick looked around with exaggerated motions. "Someone sane? Who would that be?" He grinned. "I'll take you up on the offer. Shirley, you're a brick."

Shirley grinned back. "Don't mention it. I'm doing this from completely selfish motives." Besides how much he would enjoy having a friend around, he was thinking about Cecily. There would be no time before the wedding, but after…He would casually take Patrick for a drive down to Avonlea—thank goodness the roads were improved so that autos could make the trip in less than three hours now (not counting the time spent patching tires, of course)!—and while there, they would go to Echo Lodge. Patrick could talk to Paul and Rachel and Miss Lavender while he, Shirley, took Cecily for a walk, and there he would tell her what was in his heart. It was perfect.


	9. Confessions

Jem and Faith, contrary to all expectations, had decided on a small family wedding, with very little fuss. They had decided it was ridiculous to spend all sorts of money on a lavish production when Jem was just barely getting started as a doctor.

"Besides," Faith said, "After the war, it just seems wasteful to have a large wedding." And she glared meaningfully at Mary Douglas, who had had an enormous wedding to Miller two years ago. Mary just bounced little Elliot on her knee and remarked patronizingly,

"I'm sure that's a wise decision on your part, Faith dear. After all, you should have a wedding in keeping with your style of life afterwards. Now, a shopkeeper and his wife have a certain status to keep up."

"A doctor is just as important as a shopkeeper, Mary!" cried Rilla indignantly. "Faith, darling, I am glad you're having a small wedding. It will be so much more personal."

Faith just laughed. She didn't care what Mary said. She was marrying Jem, and what did it matter what the wedding was like? What was important was that they were going to spend the rest of their lives together.

The girls were sitting on the Ingleside verandah, chatting and sewing, while the boys were lolling on the grass. They'd all had a busy day of wedding preparations, for even a small wedding required a great deal of work. Patrick leaned over to Shirley.

"Just say the word, and I'll make myself scarce next week at the wedding," he said. "I don't want your brother to feel obligated to have me invade a family affair just because your folks were good enough to put me up for the summer."

"Nonsense!" answered Jem, who had very good ears (and very nicely shaped, too, as Susan never failed to mention). "After all the help you've been, my boy, you practically are family. Besides, we'll probably put you to work. I've been meaning to ask you—you play the piano, don't you?"

Patrick shifted a little uncomfortably. "Sure."

"Great. Faith and I wanted to ask if you would play for the processional and recessional. Una's the only one in both families who plays really well, and she'll be standing up with Faith, so she can't. Would you mind?"

Patrick's discomfort became a little more apparent. "I don't mind, but I don't want you thinking I'm professional level or anything. I just have a knack for music, that's all."

"We don't want a professional," laughed Jem. "We want everything to be homey and comfortable. So you'll do it?"

Patrick finally smiled. "All right."

"Swell."

Shirley smiled in satisfaction. He was glad that Patrick blended so well with the family. He and Di, especially, had hit it off. Their senses of humor were very similar, and they both liked to take long walks along the shore, and discuss everything from local happenings to economics to world politics. Shirley had casually mentioned Grant to Patrick, not wanting his friend's heart to be broken, but so far the relationship between the two seemed perfectly platonic.

"So who all _is_ coming, Jem?" asked Carl, leaning back on his arms with a blade of grass between his teeth. "How many people make a small wedding?"

"Well, unlike some," with a significant nod toward Mary, "We're not inviting the whole Glen. My family, your family, Ellen and Norman Douglas, Miss Cornelia and Mr. Elliott, Mary and Miller, the Fords, Uncle Davy and Aunt Millie, and the Wrights."

"I've been meaning to ask, Jem," added in Shirley. "Is Anne Cordelia going to make it up after all?"

Jem made a face. "No. apparently she's having some complications with the baby, so it'll just be Aunt Diana and Uncle Fred, Jack, and Young Fred and his family."

"That's still quite a few people, you know," laughed Patrick.

"You should have seen the original guest list!" winked Jem. "Faith had to cut it down three times before we decided we really couldn't cut any more. As it is, we're lucky Aunt Dora lives out west. If she came up with her brood—well, we'd have to add another row of chairs to the lawn."

On the verandah, Mary was rising to leave. Una and Faith, as well, picked up their sewing things to go.

"Remember girls, bright and early tomorrow, we need to have our dress fittings!" called Faith as Jem took her arm to walk her home.

"Aren't you glad we all have dress uniforms?" muttered Jerry to the rest of the boys.

They agreed. Suit fittings were not something any of them had ever enjoyed.

* * *

Later that evening, Shirley was walking alone through Rainbow Valley. Patrick was involved in a fierce game of checkers with Carl; Rilla, Nan, Una, and—as he thought—Di were in the garret looking over old memory boxes; Jem was down at the manse; and Mother, Dad, and Susan had all gone to bed early.

Shirley strolled along, enjoying the night sky, thickly clustered with stars, and the mysterious scents of trees and moss that never revealed themselves during the day. He was thinking of Cecily when his attention was caught by a strange noise. Curious, he followed his ears, rounded a corner, and came upon Di, lying flat on her stomach in one of the hidden hollows, face buried in her arms, weeping her heart out.

Alarmed, he knelt down beside her and put a gentle hand on her back. "Di?" he said, very softly. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

Di looked up, the tears clustered on her long lashes, her eyes shimmering in the moonlight. "Oh—Shirley," she said chokingly. "I didn't know anyone else was here." She dashed at her eyes with the back of her hand.

Shirley took out his handkerchief and very gently dabbed at her wet cheeks. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

Di looked surprised for a moment. She managed a watery laugh. "I didn't think I wanted to talk to anyone, but I almost feel like I can to you. You're so—trustworthy, Shirley." She drew in a shuddering breath. "It's just—so hard right now. Jem and Rilla and Nan are all talking about their weddings. They all have someone close to them. Nan and I used to be closer than anyone, and now Jerry is number one in her life. I'm not angry—that's how it should be—but it still hurts. And—and—they all are making plans about their lives, and I still don't know what I'm going to do or who I'm going to spend my life with or even if I'll be a spinster forever!"

Shirley sat back on his heels and tilted his head to one side. "What about Grant?"

"Oh, _Grant_," snorted Di. "Grant was very charming, and I thought that I was in love with him, truly I did. But—I don't know—when I looked at our relationship seriously, I knew there was nothing there. We just weren't made for each other. Mother and Dad—they were made for each other. Anybody could tell that. And it's the same way with Jem and Faith—and Nan and Jerry—and even Ken and Rilla—that baby! And I knew Grant and I didn't have that." She drew herself up into a sitting position. Her lips started to tremble again. "And then tonight we were looking at our old memory boxes, and I saw a photograph Jem took of Walter and me when I graduated from Queen's, and I just—I miss him so much, Shirley! He was my whole world." She buried her face in her hands and sobbed again.

Shirley drew her into his arms and just let her cry as he rubbed her back and head. Finally, her sobs quieted down and she pulled back. She wiped at her face with his now-sodden handkerchief.

"Thanks," she said quietly. "It did help just to get it all out in the open." She looked at him quizzically. "You're so quiet, Shirley. We all tend to forget you, and yet I do believe you're the best one of us all."

Shirley blushed. "Hardly that. Walt was the extraordinary one in the family. Jem's the one who'll go far. I'm just simple Shirley, trying to do my best. I know I'll never live up to Jem or Walt—or even any of you girls. Nan—well, with her imagination and sparkle, she can do anything. Even if Jerry doesn't succeed in politics, Nan could. Rilla may not be ambitious, but when she sets her mind to something, she carries it through with her whole heart, and no one is going to get in her way. And you, Diana, you may not know what life holds in store for you, but you won't just sit back and let it pass you by. You will find something you love and chase it until you've won through."

Now it was Di's turn to blush. "You have a lot of faith in me, Shirl."

"It's well-placed," said Shirley simply.

Di brushed a hand back through her curls, dislodging bits of grass and moss. "I'm going to be very impertinent, Shirley. Are you in love with Cecily Irving?"

For once, Shirley didn't mind admitting it. Di's confessions, and the mysterious night surrounding them, seemed to bring the two of them closer than ever before, and he felt he could open his heart to Di and not regret it later. "Yes, I am," he said candidly.

"And is she in love with you?"

"I don't know. I don't think so, but after Jem's wedding I'm going to Avonlea to find out."

"She'll be a fool if she doesn't take you," dimpled Di.

Shirley laughed. "I don't know about that, but thanks." He casually took the subject back off himself. "So what _do_ you want to do with your life, Di? Do you want to continue to teach?"

"No," said Di vehemently. "I do _not_ want to teach forever. But I don't know what I do want to do. I have a bachelor's degree, but I don't know what to do with it."

"If you could pick anything in the world, regardless of practicality, training, or money, what would it be?"

Di laughed. "You know I can't just disregard reality, Shirley! That's a question for Nan."

Shirley smiled. He wouldn't have been able to answer it either. "Well, what are your interests?"

Di paused. "I'm not really sure. It was so strange. During the war, I kept praying for it to end. Now that it has, I—I almost miss it. Not the war itself, of course, but the sense of purpose it gave me. I knew I was doing something meaningful, something necessary. I guess I'd like to find some important work to be done, something that's going to make even a little part of the world better. Or is that just arrogance?"

"I think it's a very good ideal," replied Shirley. "Are you interested in doctoring, like Dad and Jem?"

Di shook her head. "I liked nursing, but I don't want to do that forever. Maybe…" Her green eyes grew dreamy in the moonlight. "You know I love kiddies. I guess, if I could, I would like to do something to help them. I don't like to teach, but I would like to work with children."

"Well," said Shirley, always ready with a practical suggestion. "There are a lot of war-orphans out there. I'm sure you could find something to do to help them."

Di's eyes lit up. "That's it! An orphanage! I could start an orphanage—oh, not just for war-orphans, but for any! For children right here in Canada who've lost their parents! Mother told me once, when I was younger, what her orphanage was like. It was _awful_, Shirley. She never had enough to eat, and it was cold and sterile and—oh, but I could run one so much better, you know I could!" The words were tumbling out of her mouth, she was so excited. "I have a good head for business—Dad always said I had more business-sense than anyone else in the family. I like to organize things. I did a good job running the Reds in Kingsport. I like children, and children like me. Oh, Shirley, _this_ is what I want to do. I feel like—like it's been waiting for me. I have to do this. This is my life work." She jumped up and spun around, and then came and sat back down, very soberly. "I wish Walter were here. He'd be so proud of me, I know he would."

Shirley leaned forward and patted her knee. "He is proud of you, Di. He may be gone, but he still cares about us and loves us. You know that."

She smiled. "Yeah, I guess I do." Impulsively, she flung her arms around Shirley's neck in a hug that nearly knocked him backward. "Thank you, Shirley. I don't know how to ever thank you enough."

Shirley laughed. "I'm your brother. What else am I supposed to do but encourage you? And when I'm an architect, I'll design a beautiful orphanage for you."

She sat back. "Is that what you're going to be? An architect?"

He nodded. "I decided it during the war. There were so many beautiful structures in Europe, and so many were destroyed, and I just…" He shrugged. "It just fits me."

Di regarded him steadily. "It does. I think you'll make a great architect. And when I get my orphanage, I'm going to name it the Shirley House, in honor of Mother and of you."

They hugged each other again and got up to go back to the house. Shirley looked at the square figure of Patrick through the window and wondered if he should tell his friend that Di's heart was free. On reflection, he decided not to. Matchmaking, despite Mother's fondness for it, was never a good idea. Di had enough on her mind with her new goals. She didn't need her little brother trying to scheme up a romance for her on top of it.

He put his arm around Di's shoulders, feeling as though he had learned more about his sister in one night than he had in twenty-three years previously. It was nice.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **Sorry this took so long to get out! I really want to do this story justice, so I want to take my time with it and make it good. This chapter was originally supposed to be about the wedding, but Di insisted on playing a larger role in this story, so I let her have her way. She's very stubborn. Jem's wedding will be the next chapter, I promise! Thanks as usual to all who review. I will try to live up to your expectations._


	10. Jem's Wedding

July 2nd, the date of Jem and Faith's wedding, dawned bright and clear. Everyone at Ingleside and the manse was up before dawn. In every corner of the house activity could be found, whether it be in the kitchen where Susan and Aunt Diana and Aunt Millie were putting the finishing touches to the wedding cake and various other delicacies, or on the lawn where the men and boys were setting up chairs and putting the last coat of white paint on the trellis that was to stand behind Jem and Faith, or upstairs in the girls' rooms where they were putting on their dresses, or under one of the oak trees where Patrick and Shirley were moving the Ingleside piano.

"Imagine if your brother had wanted a large wedding," grunted Patrick as he strained under the weight of the instrument.

"Don't speak too soon; I have three sisters left to be married," replied Shirley. "Odds are that one of them will want a large wedding."

"What about you, old man?"

"Me? I hate crowds," laughed Shirley. "The smaller the better, in my opinion."

"What if your fiancée wants a big one?"

Shirley thought of Cecily. "She won't," he answered positively.

As soon as they had the piano in order, Shirley left to find Jem. He found his oldest brother wandering around Rainbow Valley in a panic.

"What was I thinking? It's too soon to get married. I don't even know if I'll be a good doctor yet! We haven't even found a house. Mother and Dad are going to let us stay here until we do, but what if we can't find one? What if I can't support Faith? What if I can't be a good husband? What if I let her down, if I fail to live up to her expectations?"

Shirley watched Jem pace with some amusement in his eyes. It wasn't often any of them saw their calm, collected big brother fall apart like this. Finally, he took pity on Jem and grabbed him by the shoulders, effectively halting the tirade.

"Jem. Faith loves you, and you love her. That's enough to carry you through anything. Marriage isn't all moonlight and magic, but both of you are willing to sacrifice for each other and care for each other through the good times and the bad. That's all you need. Any problems you encounter you'll work through together."

Jem calmed down, the color slowly returning to his cheeks. "Thanks. You're right, of course. It's just—well, you know, I've never gotten married before."

Shirley winked. "I know."

The rest of the morning flew by, and before anyone knew it, the guests had arrived and it was time for the ceremony to begin. Jem's nervousness returned in full force as he and Shirley, resplendent in their dress uniforms, stood up beside Reverend Meredith, waiting for Faith to come out of Ingleside's side door.

Una came out first, her ethereal loveliness highlighted by the v-necked soft pink satin dress she wore. Wisps of her black hair, recently cut and shaped to her jawline, peeked out from underneath a creamy satin hat. Her hands, demurely clad in wrist-length lace gloves, clutched a small bouquet of pink rosebuds. A pang tore at Shirley's heart as she walked wistfully down the aisle to Patrick's processional. He wished Walter were alive to see her. He wished she could be walking down to her own groom. He wished there was anything he could do to take away the sadness always present in her eyes now, but he knew nothing but time could heal her heart.

Jem stiffened and caught his breath, and Shirley tore his eyes away from Una in time to see Faith and Jerry step out onto the lawn. Jerry was very stiff and splendid in his dress uniform, but he was nothing compared to Faith.

Gowned in a simple pink satin slip with a cream chiffon overlay, her stunning beauty flamed out more clearly than ever. Her tawny curls were frosted over by the lace cap that covered the back of her head, from which a long veil flowed down nearly to the ground. A double strand of pearls encircled her slender neck, matching the pearls on her ring finger and in her ears. The chiffon overlay was attached to the underdress at each shoulder with a pink rose, and in her lace-gloved hands she bore a large bouquet of roses, white lilies, and ferns. The love light radiating from her face matched the look in Jem's eyes when he saw her. No longer was there any nervousness or fear. He knew—he _knew_ that she belonged to him. From friendship, through war, separation, and trials, they had come together in love, nevermore to be parted.

Jerry handed her over to Jem, and Reverend Meredith, in a voice that trembled almost imperceptibly, began the ceremony.

It was a sweet, poignant service, made memorable only by the strong love the two had between them. Faith never once took her eyes from Jem's face as she said her vows in a clear, happy voice, and Jem, that strong, sturdy soldier, couldn't keep tears from his eyes when he repeated them back.

Reverend Meredith pronounced them "husband and wife," Jem kissed Faith to loud cheers, and they walked triumphantly back down the lawn to the joyful music of Handel's _Hornpipe_. Shirley offered his arm to Una, and the two of them followed the bride and groom, followed in turn by the rest of their families.

The wedding dinner was eaten on the lawn, much to Susan's relief, who had been worried about fitting all those people into Ingleside's dining room if it rained, and as twilight fell the dancing began. Shirley caught the nod from Jem, and quietly slipped away and brought the car 'round back. Unnoticed by anyone else, Jem and Faith disengaged themselves from the crowd and dashed to the car. Carl and Kenneth noticed them just as they were pulling out and dashed for the rice and old shoes, but it was too late. Shirley drove the happy couple away to a cacophony of laughter and shouts. He halted, grinning, just by the front, where Rilla, by previous arrangement, had gathered all the unmarried girls. Faith stood up and tossed her bouquet directly toward Nan, who obligingly caught it.

"You're next, darling," called Faith, as they headed off again. "Don't forget!"

Shirley dropped them off at the train station, where they would leave for Halifax for a week. He kissed Faith, shook Jem's hand, and drove off again, forgotten by them entirely as they started out on their new adventure together.

* * *

Back at Ingleside, the dancing was continuing strongly. Shirley caught sight of Mother and Dad waltzing in a dignified fashion, Mother resplendent in a glistening silver gown, Dad distinguished in his black suit. Kenneth and Rilla were dancing together, of course, but Jerry and Nan were seated on the grass, arguing earnestly. Di waved cheerfully to him as Patrick whirled her past in a shimmer of green gauze. Shirley laughed and was about to search for a partner himself when he caught sight of Aunt Millie and Aunt Diana talking. He changed his mind and went over to greet them.

"Shirley!" said Aunt Mille. "It's so good to see you. You've been so busy ever since we got here that we haven't had a chance to talk at all."

"How are you liking Redmond?" asked Aunt Diana. "The children miss you dreadfully at school."

"I like it well enough," said Shirley. "I do miss everyone in Avonlea, though. Are the Irvings still at Echo Lodge?" He'd meant that to slip out casually, but when he saw the quick glance the two women gave each other, he knew he'd failed.

"Why…no, Shirley, they're not," said Aunt Millie hesitantly. "Haven't you heard?"

Shirley's heartbeat picked up. "Heard what?"

Millie looked at Aunt Diana pleadingly. The older woman stepped into the breach. "It's Cecily, Shirley," she said gently. "She never recovered from her spring cold last year. When the Irvings took her to a doctor, he…he said…he said it was tuberculosis."

Tuberculosis! Shirley's face went white underneath his tan. Hardly knowing what he said, he asked, in a strange, husky voice, "Are they sure?"

"I'm afraid so," answered Aunt Diana. "They sent her to a sanitarium in the States—in the mountains in New York, I believe. They…they hope she'll get better there, but they're just not sure. I'm so sorry, Shirley."

Shirley walked away in a daze. He had no idea where he was going or what he was doing. He just walked, until he suddenly came to himself, he didn't know how much later, and found himself on the shore. He sat down on the cool sand and stared out at the sea, his entire being a fiery mass of pain.

Cecily! His beloved was dying of tuberculosis, and he'd had no idea. She was alone, far away, and he couldn't be with her. Nothing in his life had ever hurt him so badly, not even when Walter had been killed. He buried his head in his hands. How could he go on if…if…if she didn't survive? Tuberculosis was a deadly disease. Very few people ever recovered from it. What was he going to do?

He sat on the beach for hours, staring out at the sky and listening to the surf pound the shore. When he finally went back to Ingleside, the house was dark. He walked up to the back door, hoping to slip in unnoticed, but he saw two figures rise to their feet to meet him.

"Aunt Diana told Mother and she told me," came Di's voice from the shadows. "Are you okay?"

Shirley felt cold and hollow inside, the fierce flame of agony burned out into dull, aching ashes. "I don't think so, Di," he said honestly.

Patrick came forth into the moonlight. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

Shirley dropped wearily onto the ground. "Just sit with me?" he requested.

They sat, one on either side. Di laid her burnished head against Shirley's shoulder.

"Oh Shirley!" she cried with a catch in her voice. "I wish I could do something for you! You helped me when I was hurting, and I feel so helpless now."

Shirley kissed the top of her head. "It's okay, Di. There isn't anything to say."

They sat in silence for a while. Shirley felt strangely comforted by their presence. He wouldn't have thought that he'd want anybody around during his greatest agony, but their quiet sympathy did help to ease the pain. They finally convinced him to go to bed after a while. He did, and while he didn't sleep, hope did come to him while he rested. He rose in the morning before it was light out to find Dad.

As he went down the stairs, he heard a rustle behind him. He turned to see Mother coming, her great grey eyes limpid with sympathy. In an instant, he knew that she understood his pain, and he went into her arms as though he were a little child again.

"Oh my son," she murmured. "I know. There is nothing harder than knowing one we love is suffering. I know. I remember when I thought your father was dying. Oh Shirley, I've never forgotten that, and I never will, not to my dying day. Trust in God, dearest son. He will bring you comfort, eventually. It won't always be so hard."

"I know," said Shirley steadily, his eyes a little damp. He blinked. "Mother, I have to go to her. You understand? I have to."

Mother smiled a little. "Of course you do. There's nothing else you could do."

A weight lifted off Shirley's chest. He knew what he had to do, but his only fear had been that his family wouldn't understand. Having Mother's support meant the world to him.

"I planned it all out," he said, "But I need to talk it over with Dad."

"He's in his study," said Mother. "I think he's waiting for you."

Shirley kissed her cheek gratefully. What a mother she was! He went down to Dad's study, ready to present his plan, and hoping Dad would agree.

"Hold on, Cecily," he murmured. "I'm coming. Just hold on 'til I come to you."

* * *

**_Author's Note:_**_ I'm sorry! Please don't hate me! One note: I had the plot worked out and the character of Cecily created before I named her. It wasn't until I had much of the story posted that I realized her story matches Cecily from Road to Avonlea's story. This was NOT intentional. Honestly. It's one of those annoying coincidences. And believe me, she's not going to turn into a different actress in a few chapters and become a totally different character. The similarities end here. Really. _


	11. Changes

Susan Baker was not a happy woman; indeed, she was not. She had been looking forward to Little Jem's wedding for quite a while, but before she even had time to gossip over it with Mrs. Marshall Elliott, here was her little brown boy planning on leaving! She had been looking so forward to having him home for the summer, and now he was leaving—and for the States, no less! Who knew what would happen to her blessed boy in that heathenish spot. She felt so aggrieved that she simply had to pour out her troubles to Leslie Ford, who had come to talk the wedding over with Anne.

"It's not that I blame him, Mrs. Ford, dear," Susan said to the golden-haired, still beautiful woman, who immediately looked sympathetic while secretly wondering what on earth was going on. "He's only doing what he feels is his duty. I didn't argue when he felt it necessary to go off and fly against that Kaiser. And I do not plan to stand in his way now, and that you may tie to. If he has to leave, then Susan Baker will support him, yes, she will. But that does not mean I have to like it. It's not that I dislike Miss Irving, but the dear boy hasn't even proposed to her yet, and he is still just a child, and he really shouldn't feel"—

She was interrupted by Anne, much to Leslie's relief. With no knowledge of what had been happening the last twenty-four hours at Ingleside, she had been getting more and more confused.

"Oh—Leslie," said Anne, entering the kitchen. She looked so weary that Leslie immediately jumped up to kiss her. Susan stopped talking abruptly and pulled up a chair for "Mrs. Dr. dear." Anne sank into it gratefully. "Oh Susan, you are wonderful. Would it be too much trouble to ask you to make me a cup of tea?"

"Anything you want, Mrs. Dr. dear," said Susan stoutly. "And I'll fix one for Mrs. Ford dear, too. You just sit back and let Susan take care of things."

Anne pushed herself up. "Come, Leslie, let's go into the living room and be ladies of leisure while Susan is making the tea." She looped her arm through Leslie's. "Things have been happening here since last night."

"Anne, what is going on?" asked Leslie in bewilderment. "Susan starts going on about duty and Miss Irving, you look dead tired, and I don't hear any mention of Jem's wedding. Do tell a poor, confused friend what has happened."

Anne laughed. "Poor Susan. She is trying so hard to be supportive, but it is hard on her." She leaned forward in her seat and clasped her hands around her knees in her old fashion. "Leslie, you remember Cecily Irving, who was here at Christmastime?"

"Yes, of course," nodded Leslie.

"We just found out from Diana last night, after the wedding, that she has contracted tuberculosis and is in a sanatorium in New York State."

"Oh, how horrible," said Leslie in instant concern. "That poor, poor girl. Do they think she'll recover?"

"They aren't sure. Shirley telephoned Paul and Rachel this morning, but they say it's too soon to tell. And of course, Shirley is in love with her, and has been meaning to ask to court her this fall, and now this!"

"Oh Anne, he must be devastated."

Pain—and a hint of pride—filled Anne's eyes. "He is, but he is handling himself so well, Leslie. He has already withdrawn from Redmond, and has found a college near the sanatorium to which he's applied. He's talked things over with Gilbert, and they've decided that he'll go to college and work in New York so he can be near to Cecily and visit her on the weekends, and he'll stay with her as long as—well, as long as it takes. He told Paul of his decision this morning over the 'phone, and Paul was very thankful. Apparently trying to keep Cecily's spirits up has been the hardest thing."

Leslie drew in a deep breath. "Shirley's going to the States?"

"That he is, Mrs. Ford dear," said Susan, coming in with the tea tray. "And what he'll do there without any of his family nearby is beyond me. Why the Good Lord allows such places is a solemn mystery."

"But Susan," said Leslie, who really did feel for the Blythes, but couldn't help teasing a little. "Perhaps the Lord is sending Shirley there to civilize the country."

"Humph!" sniffed Susan, setting the tea down on a side table.

Before she could say more, Shirley entered the room. His face was tired, his eyes shadowed, but there was a determination about him that fairly exuded confidence. "Mother, Susan—oh, hello, Aunt Leslie—I was able to book passage on a steamer leaving Halifax next Friday."

Susan gaped. "So soon? Shirley, dear, it's only July. Why do you have to leave so soon?"

Shirley smiled. He crossed the room and took Susan's work-gnarled hands in his own. "Susan, I have to go be near Cecily. The sooner I can get there the better. Besides, it will take me a little while to find a job, and a place to live. You understand, don't you?"

Susan sniffled a little. "It has never been my good fortune to fall in love, Shirley dear, but I have been blessed to witness it in enough people that I can see why you must go. I did not before, but I do now."

Shirley bent and kissed her cheek, then turned to Anne. "Mother, I'm going upstairs to pack. Aunt Leslie, it was good to see you." He headed up the stairs and Susan, her eyes suspiciously damp, picked up the tea things and went back into the kitchen.

Leslie shook her head. "Oh Anne, why can life never be as easy for our children as we'd like it to be? You would think that they'd all suffered enough hurt throughout the war, and yet there still is more to come. Sometimes it seems as though the Almighty isn't dispensing justice anymore."

"Now Leslie, you know you don't believe that," said Anne quietly. "God gives us all the grace to endure what we must. And you know, Leslie, suffering really does build character. Rilla—all my children—grew so much during the war. And now here's Shirley. He's in pain, yes, but he's grown up almost overnight. Suddenly my 'little brown boy' is gone and a man is in his place, a man who is quietly confident and strong, with a great capacity for love and pain, and whose faith is stronger than it ever would have been had it not been tested. Oh, we may wish to shelter our children from 'life's stormy blasts' but it is those very blasts that teach them how to stand firm."

Leslie laughed a little. "Anne, you always know what to say. Forgive me, dear friend. It's so easy for me to doubt sometimes."

Anne patted her knee. "You've had more to challenge you, dearest. You've known suffering from a very young age. None of our children have had to endure that, thank heaven."

"Thank heaven," echoed Leslie, a shadow crossing her lovely face. Even after nearly thirty years of marriage to Owen Ford, she still had occasional nightmares about her past. She turned her thoughts back to Anne. "Anne, what will Shirley do if Cecily—if she—well, you know?"

"If she dies?" said Anne calmly. Leslie nodded mutely. "He'll endure," continued Anne. "He's faced that reality, and he's accepted that he might never have a future with Cecily. Right now, all he wants is to be near her for as long as possible. After that, he'll see what happens." She smiled a little. "He hasn't lost his good sense, even in the midst of all this."

"'Tribulation worketh patience; and patience, experience; and experience, hope; and hope maketh not ashamed; because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us,'" quoted Di unexpectedly, entering the room. "Shirley won't lose hope, and neither will we. Mother, I need to talk to you. Aunt Leslie, do you mind terribly if I steal Mother for a few moments?"

Leslie smiled warmly. "Of course not, dear heart. I'll go find my soon-to-be daughter and talk to her for a while."

* * *

Anne watched her friend exit gracefully, and then turned her attention toward her daughter. "What is it, Di darling?"

Di sat down in the chair Leslie had vacated, her face unusually serious. Anne observed her for a few moments, considering what a blend this daughter was of her and Gilbert. In face and form, Di resembled her, Anne, more than any of the other children. She had the same delicate features, the same slender figure, the same grey-green eyes and fine nose, the same ruddy curls. However, where Anne's feet were always off in the clouds somewhere, Di's were planted firmly on the ground. She had all her father's common sense and practical sense of humor. Instead of a dreamy gaze, her eyes usually had a twinkle of fun. Not so now, though. She was all seriousness, facing her mother as though it was her last day on earth.

"Mother," she began. "With all the fuss over Jem's wedding I haven't had a chance to talk to you. You know I've been looking for something to do with my life for the past year or so."

"Yes," said Anne, wondering why Di was bringing this up now.

"Well, I talked to Shirley, and I realized that I want to run an orphanage."

Anne blinked. She never would have thought of her daughter as an orphanage matron, but the more she thought about it, the more it seemed to be the perfect job for Di. "I think that's wonderful, dearest," she said honestly. "Will you start one here in the Island or will I be losing another of my children to the great world?"

"Well," said Di, clasping and unclasping her hands nervously. "I want to go to the States with Shirley."

Anne blinked again. "Why?" was all she could think of to say. "Aren't there enough Canadian orphans?"

Di laughed a little. "It's not that. If Shirley weren't leaving, I wouldn't think of going to the States. But he is, and I can't bear to think of him all alone, working, studying, worrying, with nobody there to keep him company or encourage him, or even give him a shoulder to cry on. And so I thought I would talk to you and Dad about it, and then talk to someone there about starting up a home for children who have lost their parents. What—what do you think?"

Anne sat in a daze. She had resigned herself to not seeing Shirley for a few years. She wasn't sure if she could let Di go as well. Yet, even as she thought that, she knew she couldn't stand in her daughter's path, if this was what she felt called to do, Anne would support her. She closed her eyes briefly, and then looked straight at Di. "If you want to do this, beloved, then I think you should go."

Di's smile, brilliant as a jewel, flashed out. "Oh, thank you! Thank you, Mother." She leapt up to hug her. "You are the best mother in the world." She dashed to the stairs. "I have to go tell Shirley."

* * *

The rest of that week was very hectic. Shirley, although he didn't sat much, was very touched that Di was coming with him. He knew that it would have been much easier for her to stay in Canada, but she was willing to sacrifice a little to help him. Patrick was the only one disappointed by it. He made plans to head back to Kingsport as soon as Shirley and Di left. Shirley told him he was welcome to stay, but Patrick admitted that he wouldn't feel comfortable without either of them there.

"You and Di are my only real friends," he sighed. "I know that sounds pathetic, but it's true. I don't know what I'm going to do without either of you."

Shirley mustered up a smile. "You could always come with us. Clarkson isn't the only school in the area, you know. There's a school for music teachers, and one for liberal arts in the next town over."

Patrick shook his head wryly. "Don't tempt me. No, my place is here, in Canada. I would never belong in the States." He clapped Shirley on the back. "Be sure to keep in touch, old man."

"You too," responded Shirley. "I don't think I would be making it through this time without your encouragement."

"Don't lose faith," said Patrick softly.

In the midst of all the packing and planning, Jem and Faith came back from their honeymoon. Looking at their glowing faces and seeing the special closeness between them, Shirley felt something squeeze at his heart. With Cecily so ill, he had no idea if he would ever be able to marry her. He didn't even know if she would last long enough for him to see her. All his hopes and dreams for the two of them had come crashing down around his ears, and he didn't know what the future held anymore.

_"Don't lose faith."_

Patrick's words echoed in his head. Shirley nodded to himself. It was reminiscent of Walter's encouragement to keep the faith. Whatever happened, he would trust, hope, and endure. He would not give in to despair, and he would persevere to whatever end the Lord had in store.

* * *

The days flew by, and before they knew it, Di and Shirley were standing on the deck of a steamship in Halifax harbor, preparing to sail for a little-known town called Potsdam, on the northern tip of New York State. All the goodbyes had been said, all the tears had been shed, and excitement and nervousness were warring within them. Brother and sister looked at each other as the ship slowly began to move.

"Here we go," said Di, a tremor noticeable in her voice.

Shirley squeezed her hand silently. He was thinking about Cecily.


	12. Letters

_12 Elm Street_

_Potsdam, N.Y. U.S.A._

_August 3rd, 1921_

_Dear Mother,_

_You will be relieved to hear that Di and I have arrived safely in the small village of Potsdam, New York. It was named for the Potsdam in Germany, but it's about as far removed from the Kaiser and Huns as you could imagine, as Susan will be happy to hear. A great number of the folks here went up to Canada—they aren't very far from the border—and enlisted there before the States entered the war. _

_I was able to register at the Clarkson Memorial College of Technology (which everyone simply calls "Clarkson") in their engineering program as a junior. I was a bit afraid that they might not accept all my credits from Queen's and Redmond—being Canadian schools, and Queen's a preparatory school at that—but everything went through. Classes begin at the end of August, which gives me plenty of time to get settled and find work. As for Di—well, she is writing to you as well, so I won't waste time and ink by repeating her news._

_But I'm sure you really want to hear about Cecily. She is at the Trudeau Institute in Saranac Lake—a little village in the Adirondack Mountains, about sixty miles from Potsdam. It really is a beautiful spot; I could like it if not for Cecily's illness. I went up there to see her the day after we arrived. Paul and Rachel and Miss Lavender are staying in a rented cottage near the Institute. They told me I wouldn't be allowed to see her, but I had to find out for myself. A nurse, looking very reminiscent of the war days, met me severely at the front door and looked very shocked when I asked to see Miss Irving._

"Sir,"_ said she, very impressively. "This is a sanatorium for tuberculosis patients."_

_"I know," I replied. "Otherwise I should hardly be looking for Miss Irving here." I suppose I was rude, but nurses have always brought out the worst in me. I horrified several V.A.D.s back in—but I digress. Anyway, her superior manner annoyed me, and I was so desperate to see Cecily that I hardly knew what I was saying._

_"Tuberculosis," very slowly and carefully, as though I were an infant, "is a highly contagious disease. Patients are kept in complete isolation from outsiders until they show certain signs of improvement."_

_"Can't I see her for just a moment?" I pleaded. "I promise not to breathe deeply."_

_I don't think she appreciated that sort of humor very much. I honestly didn't feel like joking, but I couldn't show her how I really felt so I covered it with humor. I've learned how to do that from Patrick, and it's most useful._

_The long and the short of it is, I couldn't see her. The nurse promised to tell her I'd been there, and Paul told me that they do allow patients to receive letters, although they can't write back for fear of germs. I'm still debating whether or not to tell Cecily how I feel in a letter. She must have some idea that I care, since I'm here, but I don't know if I should tell her outright now or wait until I can see her face to face. And what if she doesn't care for me in return? Di thinks I should write—well, actually she thinks I break into the Institute one night and tell Cecily that I love her, but if I won't do that she thinks I should write. Paul seems to lean that way as well. Rachel couldn't give her opinion; she's pretty torn up._

_Di bought a camera and we're going to take some pictures of the village to send home to you folks. It's remarkably pretty around here; maybe because it's so close to Canada. It certainly doesn't fit into our concept of the States at all. I hope things are going well there and that Jem and Faith are settling in well. It's nice that they can stay at Ingleside; the old home just doesn't seem the same without lots of people—and children! Tell Faith I'm counting on her to make me Uncle Shirley soon._

_I'm glad I came, Mother. Even though I can't see Cecily yet, I'm so close by that if anything happens I can be there, and when—_when_, not if!—she gets better I'll be able to be with her. Love to Father and Susan and all the rest,_

_Shirley._

"Poor lamb," commented Susan as Anne folded the letter up.

"Why poor, Susan?" asked Faith. The five women—Anne, Susan, Faith, Nan and Rilla—were seated on the verandah, taking a break from daily chores to read the news from Shirley and Di. "Young Mrs. Dr." as Faith was already starting to be called, continued speaking. "He sounds quite cheerful, all things considered."

Susan sniffed. "He may put a good face on things, Faith dear, but he does not fool me, no he does not."

"What does Di have to say, Mother?" asked Nan, impatient to hear news of her twin. With her engagement to Jerry finally official, she didn't like hearing about anyone else's sad love affairs.

Anne obligingly opened up the other letter, penned in dashing, bold handwriting.

_Dearest Mother and everyone else who is no doubt gathered around listening to this,_

_We are here! the trip was a nightmare, but we managed it in one piece. I have never been seasick before, but I thought I was going to die on this trip. You all might never see me again, because I don't think I can possibly bear another journey like that one._

_Potsdam is a quaint little village. It reminds me of the Glen in many ways—it is very small, and very old fashioned. However, the two colleges to bring it a unique feel. The next town over also has a university, so there is a very scholarly and youthful feel to the whole area that the Glen lacks. The people are very friendly: much more like Canadians than Yankees. They're only about sixty miles from Ottawa—the two countries are separated only by the St. Lawrence river. It's made both of us feel right at home._

_I went to a town meeting shortly after arriving here and was able to bring my proposal for an orphan asylum before the board. I think they were a bit taken aback at such an idea from a young woman, but they were very polite, just the same. They thanked me kindly for my interest, but explained that the Catholic churches had already established enough orphanages for their small area. They suggested I go to a city and try._

_Naturally, I was disappointed, but I am undaunted! Upon reflection, operating my own asylum might have been an optimistic goal to start out with, anyway. So, I hied me over to the Sisters who run the asylum here and told them my predicament. End result: I am now working for them. They normally don't hire outsiders, especially Protestants, but for a good cause they decided they could make an exception. Reassure Susan and Miss Cornelia that I have not turned Catholic, even if I am learning heaps from them._

_I can already see that my biggest difficulty will come from becoming too attached to the children. Sister Mary Elizabeth, my supervisor, has warned me, but it's so hard not to love them. This is definitely a good place to start. I can tell I will come away much better equipped to run my own establishment than if I had just plunged in headfirst._

_Shirley will have told you all about Cecily. He's bearing up bravely, but I don't know what he'll do once he's working and in school. It's a good thing I came with him, if just to make sure he takes care of himself._

_Hugs and kisses, I love you all,_

_Your own Di._

Nan sighed. "It seems so strange and…romantic to have them over there, forging a life for themselves, braving the challenges of a new land, treading boldly forward on their chosen path."

Faith laughed, rumpling up her curls with a graceful hand. "They're hardly in the jungles of deepest darkest Peru, Nan."

"Still," observed Anne quietly. "It is odd to have my children making lives for themselves away from P.E.I.—and away from Canada."

"They will come back, Mrs. Doctor dear," said Susan positively, rolling up her knitting and moving back toward the kitchen. "Those blessed children will return someday to the Island, and that you may tie to."

* * *

Shirley stared at the blank paper in front of him. He and Di had settled nicely into their tiny apartment on Elm St. It had just four rooms: a kitchen barely big enough for a stove and table, a living room into which they had just squeezed three chairs, and two bedrooms. Despite its size, the little place was quite cozy, and their landlady was very charming. None of this helped Shirley now, though, as he struggled with a way to pour out his feelings for Cecily onto paper. His feelings ran so deep, he didn't think he'd ever be able to bring them out, but he had to tell her. She deserved to know why it was he was here. Finally, picturing her dark blue eyes before him, he lowered his pen to the paper and began to write.

_My very dear Cecily,_

_I am not a fancy fellow. You know that as well as anyone. I rarely like to share my thoughts and feelings with anybody, and when I do, it's always blunt and direct. So this letter will be the same, though it might not be as pleasing as if I could write in flowery language._

_I love you, my dear. Love you! I think I have ever since I've known you, although I didn't even realize it until Christmas. I wanted to tell you then, but I decided—perhaps wrongly—that it was too soon. I told myself that I would get through one year at least at Redmond before confessing my feelings to you. I did tell your father though, and he gave me his blessing. When I heard about your illness, I thought—I felt—well, there are no words to describe the agony. I didn't even stop to think; I knew I had to be with you. I can't see you yet, but I am near, and this gives me more comfort than anything else could at this point._

_Cecily, I don't want this to trouble you. I will continue to send you letters, but only friendly ones, telling you about college and my job. Once you are starting to get better, I'll come take you for drives, or we'll just walk along Lake Flower, and discuss why they named the village Saranac Lake and the lake itself Lake Flower. I won't worry you with my feelings, but I had to tell you now. Maybe I'm weak, but I can't bear not to have you know. Forgive me if I'm out of line. _

_You must get better, dear. The world needs people like you. And even if you never love me, I don't think I can live in this world if you are not in it as well. Do whatever the doctors and nurses tell you, do whatever it takes, but you must recover. I pray for you continually. I love you, forever and always,_

_Shirley. _


	13. Cecily Replies

Cecily sighed a little and shifted in her chair. She was grateful—truly, she was—to be at the Trudeau Institute. Many people who suffered from tuberculosis never even had the chance to recover. Here, she had a very good chance at surviving her disease. And yet, for all that, she was _bored._ Everything was regimented; everything was done the same way every day. Wake up at 7:00. Drink milk and take tests. Breakfast. Doctor's inspection. Rest outside. Luncheon. Rest or work at pointless handcrafts. Snack. Rest. Supper. Evening entertainment. Nighttime snack. Bed. The same thing, day after day. The monotony of it was almost more unbearable than the actual illness.

Cecily sighed again and chastised herself. The doctors and nurses here had been curing people for over a generation; they knew what was best. It wasn't right to complain, even to herself.

She looked up with a bright smile as one of the nurses wheeled another patient out onto the porch. Muffled in sweaters and afghans, the patients were sent outside to rest and sleep on the porches in all weathers and all seasons.

"Good morning, Meg," Cecily said softly.

A small, triangular face and wickedly bright eyes peeped back out at her from the jumble of blankets. "Morning, Sis," said the other girl.

"There now," said the nurse brightly. "You girls can chat together cozily now, won't that be nice? Oh, Miss Cecily, there's a letter for you come in the post this morning." She pulled an envelope out of her pocket and handed it to Cecily, who received it rather indifferently.

"Probably from Father or Grandmother Lavender. They write quite regularly."

Meg waited until the nurse had left, and then said, "Are you sure it isn't from that handsome stranger who came here asking about you?" She broke into a fit of giggles, interspersed with racking coughs.

Cecily rolled her eyes. "Oh, Meg. You know that Nurse Anna likes to romance." A week or so ago one of the nurses had come to the girls with a wild tale of a handsome, mysterious stranger who had tried to force entrance into the Institute, demanding to see Cecily. That maiden had dismissed it all as sheer fluff, but Meg and some of the other girls still liked to tease her about it.

"How are you this morning, Meg?" asked Cecily, changing the subject.

Margaret Johnson was twenty years old, and had been in the Trudeau Institute since she was seventeen. They'd thought she was cured enough to leave a few times, but each time her symptoms reemerged within weeks of leaving, and she had to return. Everyone knew she wasn't leaving this time; the disease had progressed too far, but the Institute refused to cast her out, hoping against hope that they could still cure her.

And odd friendship had blossomed between the two girls. They were very different in personality—Cecily was quiet and shy, while Meg was vivacious and loud—but they took to each other right away. Meg's boisterous good cheer bolstered Cecily's weary spirits, and Cecily's calmness helped to steady the other girl. Even the nurses noticed the friendship and encouraged it.

Meg pulled one hand out of her blankets and waved it airily. "Marvelous, darling, simply too-too."

Cecily rippled out an amused laugh. No matter how much pain Meg was in, she never complained, and always made a joke out of everything.

"Go on, Sis, read your letter," added Meg. "I always like to hear what your family has to say." Her own family rarely contacted her, preferring to act as though she no longer existed.

Cecily complied. She looked at the envelope curiously as she opened it. "That's odd."

"What?"

"It's not from Father or Grandmother Lavender. Grandmother Lavender's handwriting is very graceful and old-fashioned, and Father's is clear and flowing. Look." She held the letter out to where Meg could see the upright, striking black characters.

Meg shrugged. "Well, you won't know who wrote it unless you read it. Go on."

Cecily coughed a little and began to read.

"My very dear Cecily…" she began, and then her voice trailed off as she stared in disbelief at the rest of the contents of the letter. Emotion she couldn't quite recognize flooded her heart as the words leapt off the page before her eyes. She clapped her hands to her suddenly burning cheeks, letting the letter drop to the floor of the porch. "_Oh!_" she gasped. "Oh, oh!"

"What?" asked Meg, a sharp note of alarm in her voice. "Cecily, what is it?"

Cecily couldn't answer. She seemed paralyzed with shock.

"Sissy, answer me, or I'll call the nurse! What's wrong?"

"He—he loves me," Cecily finally managed to whisper. "He _loves_ me!" To her utter surprise, she burst into tears.

* * *

Shirley whistled a little as he left the campus. Fall had arrived in Potsdam, and everywhere red and orange leaves carpeted the sidewalks and lawns. The crisp, clean air invigorated him. Lately he had been feeling tired and discouraged. His classes were getting more and more difficult, his job as a carpenter was proving more challenging than he had expected, and—worst of all—he hadn't heard of any improvement in Cecily's condition. He called the Irvings every evening, hoping to hear of a change, but thus far the answer always was: "Nothing yet." 

Today, however, he was feeling better. He was finally starting to get a handle on his courses—in fact, just that morning one of his professors had complimented him on his most recent project. He was starting to get to know many of the other students, too. A group of other juniors had invited him to have lunch with them that day, but he needed to get to his most recent job site, and had been forced to decline. As for Cecily, he still wished he could hear of an improvement, but sometimes, he reminded himself, no news was good news, and it was early yet for her to start recovering. He must not expect too much, too soon.

He entered his apartment building, bade his landlady a cheerful hello, and ran up the stairs to change into his work clothes.

"There you are, Shirley!" exclaimed Diana, as he entered their apartment. She was dressed in her simple navy blue dress and white cap—the nuns had wanted her to wear a wimple, but she had flatly refused, so they compromised with a cap—obviously getting ready to leave for work. "I left a sandwich for you in the icebox, and a glass of milk. Make sure you eat before leaving for work."

Shirley grinned at her. "Di, I'm not a child. I can feed myself, you know."

Di snorted in an extremely un-ladylike manner. "You wouldn't know it to look at you. You are wearing yourself to skin and bones, my dear boy. What will Susan say if you fade away to nothing while I'm here with you? She'd never forgive me."

Shirley shrugged out of his jacket and headed into his bedroom to change. "Alright, I'll eat. I've just been busy lately," he called over his shoulder as he went.

"I know," Di said sympathetically. "But working yourself into the ground will not help Cecily any."

"But it does stop me from thinking about her so much," he answered, coming back out in his denim pants and button-down shirt. Seeing her concerned look, he changed the subject.

"How are things at the Home?"

Di's face lit up. "There's a family that wants to adopt little Ethan," she said eagerly. "I'll miss him terribly, of course, but I'm so glad he's going to be in a family. He needs love so badly. Sister Mary Elizabeth said I have a real knack for this sort of work, and she wouldn't be surprised at all if I was fully able to run my own asylum in a year or so."

She chattered on, but Shirley was only listening with half an ear. Had it not been for his worry over Cecily, he could have enjoyed life in Potsdam very much. The people—"Yankees" though they might be—were extremely friendly, and the combination of school and work would not have been too much had he not been worrying all the time. In fact, were Cecily not in the picture, he could have seen him and Di settling down there as a sort of modern Matthew and Marilla, just as Di had suggested when Rilla and Ken got engaged, living together and taking care of each other into their old age. But, he sighed, with Cecily suffering from tuberculosis, he couldn't bring himself to thoroughly enjoy anything. Until he knew that she was out of danger, everything he did would have a taint to it. If he knew for certain that she loved him back, it would have eased things slightly, but with everything between them uncertain, he felt like he was on an emotional see-saw. He found himself missing flying more and more these days.

* * *

_Trudeau Institute_

_Saranac Lake_

_September 25, 1921_

_Dearest Shirley,_

_You will likely never see this letter. I can't send it out, but I have to write back to tell you what is in my heart. It seems too wonderful to believe that you love me. I still think I might have dreamt it, but then I just look at your letter again and…there it is, written in your own precious hand. How can you love me? I am so young, and so frail, and so unworthy of you. You have seemed to me, ever since I met you, the epitome of everything good and manly and healthy. I'll never forget seeing you in the woods that first day. You were so kind, and such a gentleman. I'd never had a real friend my own age before, and you seemed to really like me. Even then it almost seemed too wonderful to be true. And now to find that you love me! I am so blessed._

_Oh Shirley, how I wish I were healthy. It seems so cruel that you should love me when I am so ill. I feel as though I ought to tell you to forget about me and love another, but I can't. Perhaps I am selfish, but I am glad you love me! Glad! Oh Shirley, how could I not be? And how could you even think I might not love you in return? I cannot help but love you. Unlike you, I know the exact moment when I fell in love with you. It was when they told me I had tuberculosis and had to come here. All I could think at that moment was that I wanted you near me. I wanted you to hold me and promise me everything would be fine. At the moment when I realized I might not have a future at all, I knew that I wanted to spend my future with you. I still wish it, however unlikely it may seem. _

_Thank you, a thousand times over, for writing to me and confessing your love. Had I died without knowing…I think I would have felt dissatisfied even in heaven. I know that I wouldn't, of course, but I do feel that way. Something has been missing from my life, and now I am complete. I promise you, Shirley, I will do everything in my power to get better now. No matter how unpleasant the treatment is, I will not complain or even think of complaining. I'll just think of you, and your dear, steady, faithful brown eyes, and funny little half-smile that I love so well, and I'll have the strength to go on._

_It is time for dinner now, dearest. I must go, but I could not be content until I had written out a response to you. I love you, more than any pen could ever express._

_Yours, always,_

_Cecily._

Cecily laid her pen down and tucked her letter into the small diary that she kept next to her bed. She smiled brightly at the nurse. "I'm ready."

* * *

_**Author's Note:** This didn't come out quite as I wanted it, but as I was receiving death threats through email (you know who you are), I figured for my own safety I needed to update. The end is slowly, steadily approaching! I have only seven more chapters planned after this, so stay tuned (and reviews are, as always, most appreciated)._


	14. So Wags The World Away

Di burst tempestuously into Shirley's room, where he was neatly folding clothes into his bag.

"I am delighted that Rilla is getting married," she pronounced. "But I can't help wishing it was Nan's wedding instead."

"Are she and Jerry actually getting married this year?" inquired Shirley curiously. It had become a standing joke that Nan and Jerry would be engaged forever, and never actually get married.

Di shrugged. "Why knows?" she laughed. "I also can't help wishing Rilla's wedding was a little later. Crossing the ocean in summer is bad enough, but in April…" she gave a little shudder.

"I know," said Shirley sympathetically. "Paul called yesterday with a positive update on Cecily for the first time. They think she's starting to show signs of improvement. I really don't want to be away from her right now."

"Rilla always was a selfish, thoughtless little puss," said Di impatiently. Then she bit her lip, looking ashamed. "That was unfair of me. Rilla may have been a bit self-centered when she was a 'teen, but she's matured remarkably over the years. I think Mother's even closer to her now than she is to Nan or me. I'm very happy for Rilla, really I am. But since we're not going home for the summer, I selfishly wish my one trip back this year could be in nicer weather."

Shirley smiled silently. He and Di had decided to stay in the States for the summer. Di didn't want to leave the Home for three months, and Shirley didn't want to leave Cecily for that long. Besides, with traveling home now for Rilla and Ken's wedding, it would be too expensive to go back again in June.

"I can't believe my baby sister is getting married at twenty-two, and here I am at the ripe old age of twenty-six with no beau in sight!" laughed Di. "To be sure, little Bobby asked me yesterday if he could marry me when he grows up, but as he is only seven, that might be a while." She floated back out the door, leaving a trill of laughter floating in her wake.

Shirley smiled and shook his head. Di was a good sport and the best of sisters, and they had grown very close in the almost-eight months they had spent in Potsdam. He went back to his packing, wishing as he did so that he could at least see Cecily before he had to leave. He had a horrible feeling that something bad was going to happen to her while he was away and he wouldn't be able to do anything about it.

He told himself sternly to stop fretting as he strapped up his bag. He was not of such colossal importance in the universe that as soon as he was out of things for a short time the world would stop turning. Cecily would be fine or not, whether he was there or in Glen St. Mary. He determined to enjoy his visit home and the wedding of his baby sister without ruining things with an overactive imagination.

* * *

Nan was awaiting the duo at the train station, brimming with excitement. She had grown even lovelier since they'd last seen her, her creamy skin flushed slightly with excitement, her brown eyes sparkling like sun-dappled brook water, her nut-brown hair bobbed and banged in the very latest "Dutch bob" style. She flung herself into Di's arms as soon as her twin stepped off the train.

"Di darling!" she cried, as though they'd been parted for years. "I've missed you so much! It's been simply ages since you left." She released Di briefly to give Shirley a swift peck on the cheek, and then looped her arm through Di's and led the way out of the station, chattering on about the wedding.

Underneath all her good cheer, Shirley thought he detected a hint of pain when she mentioned Rilla's wedding, and guessed it came from not knowing when such an event would happen for her. It wasn't in Nan's nature to be bitter, but she did have it in her to be slightly envious.

The two girls went on their merry way, leaving Shirley to follow with the bags. He was wryly thankful that Di packed lightly as he quietly made his way behind them.

Things were remarkably calm at Ingleside, considering there was to be a wedding in two days. Susan and Mother were knitting on the verandah, while Rilla and Faith were in the living room chatting casually with Gertrude Oliver, who had come over from Charlottetown to be Rilla's matron-of-honor. Dad and Jem were off on their rounds.

Everyone sprang up to welcome to newcomers. Rilla whisked Di upstairs to see her dress, and Susan rushed Shirley off to the kitchen to sample the treats she'd been making for him. While there, he mentioned the odd lack of activity.

Susan smiled. "Rilla, bless the lamb's heart, has insisted that her family take it easy and enjoy her wedding without fussing over every little thing. She has taken matters into her own two hands and has everything under control. The pet always had a knack for organizing, that she has."

"She and Ken are getting married in the church, said Faith, coming into the kitchen. "They'd wanted to get married on the lawn, like Jem and I, but it's too cold for that. Betty Mead and some of the other former Junior Reds have decorated the church, and Kenneth has hired a _caterer_ from _Toronto_ to provide food for the reception."

"Except the wedding cake," interposed Susan proudly. "Rilla said she would trust no-one but old Susan to make her wedding cake."

"Nobody can match your cakes, Susan," said Shirley, finishing his piece of fudge and licking the last remnants of chocolate from his fingers.

Susan beamed in satisfaction as Faith continued. "Rilla has taken care of everything, and all any of will have to do on Friday is show up at the church on time and in our wedding finery."

Susan sniffed slightly. "I cannot believe that Kenneth is taking that blessed lamb away from us in two days time."

"Now Susan, Toronto isn't that far away," comforted Shirley. "And they'll still be back in the summer for weekends when they can."

"Do not you tell me that Kenneth could not have found a newspaper to work at here on the Island," said Susan sternly. "Having baby Rilla come home for brief visits only will not be the same."

"Oh well, that's the way of life, Susan," said Faith comfortingly. "At least you still have Jem and me. Shirley, have you heard that Una is going away?"

"No," said Shirley interestedly. He couldn't imagine Una leaving the Glen. "Where is she going?"

"India," answered Faith soberly. "She says she can't spend her life here in hiding. She has to do something good while she can. So, she's going to start training with the Presbyterian Mission Board in June, and she'll be leaving in August. I can't imagine life without her here."

"The good Lord never intended for all you children to scatter like this," said Susan. "Here's Shirley and Di in the States, little Rilla and Ken going to Toronto, Una going to India"—

"And Carl will be leaving this fall for his scientific expedition to Africa," added Faith. "And Jerry will be leaving for Ottawa soon. It really is quite sad, when you think about it."

"_So wags the good old world away_," quoted Shirley practically.

Faith smiled. "At least we'll all be together for Rilla's wedding. She really is having a ridiculous number of attendants: Gertrude, Nan, Di, Una, and Persis for her, and you, Jem, Carl, and two of Ken's college chums for him."

Susan sniffed. "You cannot deny, Faith dear, that even with the caterer and the attendants, it is still less of a show than Mary Vance Douglas put on for _her_ wedding."

"Did you know she's had another baby, Shirley?" giggled Faith, while Susan looked scandalized. She still didn't think it quite proper for children to be talking so freely about…babies…of all things! And from the minister's daughter, too!

"What did she name this one?" asked Shirley amusedly. Mary's first son had been named Elliot Miller John Kitchener Douglas.

"Vance Lloyd George Douglas," answered Faith, her eyes sparkling roguishly. "She decided to go easy on this one."

* * *

Everyone had been hoping for a nice day for Rilla and Ken, but the morning of the wedding dawned cold and drizzly.

"Never mind," sparkled Rilla at the breakfast table. "We'll have enough sunshine inside to make up for any lack outside. Oh dear, I'm so happy I'm almost frightened!"

"You deserve every happiness in the world, Rilla," said Gertrude Grant indulgently. Marriage had been very kind to Gertrude. Her cynicism had almost entirely vanished, and her mystic tendencies were all but gone. She said that she hadn't had a prophetic dream since the war ended, and with that burden lifted from her shoulders, she appeared much more carefree and relaxed.

Everyone rejoiced with Rilla, although Shirley was even quieter than usual and Nan had red rims around her eyes.

Shirley had stayed outside until late the previous night, wandering through the maple grove and by the shores of the Glen pond while praying desperately for Cecily. He'd had a 'phone call from Paul, saying that the doctors had just informed them that she'd taken a turn for the worse. He was heartsick with worry and fear, and struggling between wanting to rush back to Saranac Lake in case—well, just in case, and knowing he could do nothing even if was there. He finally managed to work himself into a tolerable calm, determined to give Rilla and Ken a good wedding day.

When he'd finally come in, he'd accidentally heard Nan on the telephone. It was obvious from her end of the conversation that she was talking to Jerry, and that she was upset. She'd hung up quickly when she noticed him and rushed away upstairs without saying anything, but he could tell this morning that she hadn't slept well. He made a mental note to keep an eye on her throughout the day.

* * *

The day passed quickly but smoothly, and exactly at six in the evening Shirley stood at the end of a line of gentlemen in dress uniforms, awaiting the strains of _Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring_ for the ladies to make their way down the aisle. Betty Mead and Rilla's other chums had done a marvelous job of decorating the building with white candles and blue ribbons, and all the guests were waiting in breathless anticipation.

First down the aisle was Persis Ford, looking dazzling in her smoke-blue gown. She was followed by Nan, who had covered the black circles under her eyes with powder and was looking very chic; Di, who winked at Shirley as she walked; Una, whose blue eyes were brought out beautifully by her dress; and finally Gertrude Grant, looking very happy for her young friend.

The organist switched from Bach to Wagner, and everyone rose as Gilbert and Rilla started down the aisle, Rilla's ripe loveliness brought out by her white lace gown and wreath of white flowers on her ruddy hair. Shirley, despite his own worries, couldn't help but smile at his baby sister as she kissed Dad on the cheek and turned to Ken. The love shining from her eyes brought an unexpected lump to his throat as she and Ken repeated their vows. When Rev. Meredith pronounced them man and wife, he couldn't help cheering with the rest.

The reception afterward was very pleasant, although Shirley couldn't help wishing he could escape from the crowded stuffiness of the fellowship hall and get outdoors to be alone. He stood by himself, leaning on an open windowsill, and observed all the village folk and they mingled and gossiped and consumed Susan's matchless wedding cake.

He wasn't really thinking about much until he overheard someone mention his name. He looked around and saw Olive Kirk and Kate Drew standing nearby, gossiping maliciously.

"—What about him?" asked Olive, a smug look on her fat face.

Kate giggled gratingly. "Oh, Shirley! Who ever even thinks about him? He's so plain and boring. Nothing like his brothers. The famous Blythe charm passed him by, sure enough."

"I doubt he'll ever marry," sneered Olive. "Unless his family pays some girl to marry him. No one could possibly be attracted to someone like that. If you didn't see him once in a while you'd forget he even existed!"

"Mmm…did you see Faith Blythe's dress?" asked Kate. "She gets married and all fashion sense goes out the door."

Their conversation turned to criticizing everyone's dress, and Shirley straightened abruptly and left the building. He stood outside in the cold rain and took several deep breaths. He knew better than to heed what those girls said…and yet it stung, too. He knew he was the plain one in the family, always the odd man out. It didn't bother him, but…sometimes he wished he had more of the "famous Blythe charm." As was becoming common with him, his thoughts turned to Cecily. What if she'd only ever thought of him as a brother? What if she thought of him as "plain and boring?" perhaps if he were like Walter he could win her with clever words and eloquent look. If he were Jem he could charm her with his fearless attitude and ready smile. But he was just Shirley. What did he really have to offer her, anyway?

Before he could dwell too much on that depressing thought, Persis came out the door looking for her wedding partner and drew him back inside for the next dance. There, the words and music of the latest waltz put everything else out of his head, at least for a time.

_Just another waltz beneath the red moon Just another kiss before we part  
Let me tell my love beneath the red moon dancing with you  
Sweetheart hold me in your arms, for day is dawning  
Starlight will leave us soon  
Just another waltz before the morning  
Under the red moon while the violins are playing  
We'll be swaying to and fro  
And it seems your eyes are saying that you love me, love me so  
While the music of the cello  
Sings its haunting melody  
You can watch the red moon mellow  
And leave the rest to me. _

_Just another waltz beneath the red moon  
Just another kiss before we part let me  
Tell my love beneath the red moon dancing with you  
Sweetheart hold me in your arms for day is dawning  
Starlight will leave us soon  
Just another waltz before the morning  
Under the red red moon.  
Under the red red moon.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Red Moon was written by John Traver, 1922_


	15. Light and Dark

Cecily lay listlessly on her cot, gazing aimlessly out at the October landscape. The trees were a gorgeous riot of reds and golds, the air crisp and fresh, and yet she could enjoy none of it. She knew her father would likely write a poem upon seeing such a beautiful vision, but she did not even have the energy to appreciate God's creation. She had had a bad few months. Instead of getting better, she was growing steadily weaker, and even Shirley's weekly, cheerful, steady letters did nothing for her. Her spirits were steady, but her body was betraying her. Several times a day she rallied all the strength of her will to _fight_ against this disease ravaging her body, yet she could not seem to conquer it. Had she but known, the doctors had predicted she would pass on long before this—she was too delicate and had always had too frail health to realistically be able to best the tuberculosis—and they were amazed and encouraged simply that she'd survived this long. Not knowing anything about the growing stack of letters hidden under Cecily's pillow, they didn't know to what to attribute her strength of spirit.

Today, however, Cecily was finding it very difficult to be strong. She wanted to go home—she wanted to be well—she just wanted to see Shirley and hear his firm voice tell her she would be alright—she wanted to rest against his sturdy shoulder—she was just tired of being sick! She missed Meg, too. The older girl's symptoms had gotten far worse the past week, and none of the other patients had seen her since. Without her continual good cheer and encouragement, Cecily found it hard to keep her flagging spirits up.

"Miss Cecily, here's another letter for you," said Nurse Anna, coming into the porch, bearing an envelope addressed in Shirley's bold handwriting. She smiled encouragingly at the small, frail girl.

Cecily reached out and took the letter with the first sign of eagerness she'd shown all day. While she was reading Shirley's account of his senior year of college, the monstrosity of a house his construction company was reluctantly building for a very eccentric young couple, and Di's disastrous first attempt at canning, a smile lit her hollowed blue eyes and a faint flush infused her white cheeks. After finishing it, however, a small sigh escaped her, and she sank back into her lethargy. Even Shirley's letters couldn't lift her heart for long.

* * *

Nurse Anna stood just inside the building, a slight frown between her eyes as she watched Cecily in concern. She let out a sigh herself and strode down the hall to Meg Johnson's room. That girl had only a little over a week left to live, and the nurses were doing everything they could to make her last days comfortable.

Meg seemed to be sleeping when Nurse Anna entered. Nurse Abby, a plump, comfortable older woman, was just emptying the bedpan when Anna came in.

"How is she?" whispered Anna.

"Not much longer for this world, poor soul," answered Abby sympathetically. "And how is Miss Cecily today?"

Anna shook her head sadly. "She's not doing well at all. Her morale is fading fast, and with that gone, I'm afraid her body hasn't got the strength to fight anymore. It's a shame, too, because she was doing so well for a while last spring. It might just be that she follows her friend into the grave."

The two nurses shook their heads and clicked their tongues and tiptoed out of the room, neither one noticing the bright eyes that peeped open to watch them leave.

* * *

Di and Shirley were sitting peacefully in their small living room, Shirley finishing up some homework, Di attempting to knit a baby sweater for Jem and Faith's first child, due that winter. Di was not a particularly good knitter, but she was determined to give the child something handmade. Twilight was just turning to evening, forcing Shirley to get up and turn on the lamps, when a thunderous knock sounded from downstairs. Brother and sister looked at each other, puzzlement in both their eyes. None of their friends visited in the evening without calling first, and they weren't expecting any visitors.

A dreadful thought flashed into Shirley's mind suddenly. "Cecily," he gasped, running for the stairs.

Di leaped to her feet, dropping her knitting, and pelted full-tilt after him. They dashed down the stairs and Shirley wrenched the door open, his face pale and worry plain in his brown eyes.

A lovely maiden stood laughing at them on the front stoop, her bobbed hair just peeking out under her hat, the sparkle in her dark eyes visible even in the dim light. A large, dark gentleman stood just behind her, grinning sheepishly. For a moment Shirley stared, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Di gasped.

"Nan Blythe! What a fright you gave us! Whatever are you doing here? And with Jerry, too?"

Nan stepped inside and held up her left hand, where a slender band of gold spanned her ring finger. "Nan Meredith now, as of two days ago."

* * *

Nurse Anna was making the rounds of her patients before heading to bed herself. She had just peeked into Meg's room briefly to ascertain that the girl was still breathing, and was preparing to withdraw again when a hoarse voice arrested her.

"Nurse."

Anna rushed over to the bedside. Meg's pointed face peered up at her, her features creased with pain but her eyes bright with determination. "What is it, Miss Meg? Are you in worse pain? What can I do for you?"

"You can take me to see Sis," answered Meg unexpectedly.

Anna gaped for a moment. "You mean—Miss Cecily? But Miss Meg"—

"I need to see her before I die," said Meg, holding onto Anna's arm with surprising strength. "I have to see her."

"Miss Meg—you are not well enough to be moved, and we can't bring her to you. If you have a message for her, I will be happy to pass it on to her."

"No!" said Meg forcefully. She was overcome by a fit of coughing and had to wait for it to subside. Finally, the hacking stopped. Wiping the blood from her lips with a handkerchief, she continued. "No," she said more quietly. "A message won't do it. I need to see her myself, face to face, and talk to her. I've never asked for anything in all the time I've been here, and I never will ask for anything again if you just do this for me."

"I don't dare move you," said Anna, although weakly. Something about Meg's manner and eyes was very compelling.

"I'm going to die tonight one way or another," said Meg wryly. "Don't ask me how I know this, but I just do. Whether I'm moved or not makes no difference now. _Please_, Nurse."

It was the please that convinced Anna finally. She looked around quickly. Seeing nobody else around, she brought Meg's wheeled chair over to the bed and carefully lifted the girl into it, making sure she was well-covered in blankets. "This has to be quick and quiet," she warned the girl.

Meg managed a wink. "Thanks," she murmured.

Anna wheeled the chair down to the main sleeping porch. Most of the girls were asleep already, but she could see the moonlight reflecting off of Cecily's open eyes. She wheeled the chair over to Cecily's cot and left it with a quiet, "Five minutes only, Miss Meg." Then she withdrew to the door and nervously kept watch for the night nurse or—even worse—one of the doctors.

Cecily looked over at Meg, feeling some interest stir in her for the first time in days.

"Meg!" she gasped. "What are you doing here? Are you getting better? What"—

Meg held a hand up out of her blankets. "Hold it, Sissy," she said imperiously. "I've only got five minutes, so I need to use them well. I don't have time for you to interrupt me, so you just lie there and listen, understand?" At Cecily's puzzled nod, she continued. "I'm dying tonight, Sis. I've known it was coming for a while now, but something told me today that this was it. By tomorrow morning, I'll just be a memory. No, no interrupting! Just listen."

Cecily gulped back tears and closed her mouth.

"I don't want you to waste a whole lot of time mourning me. Life hasn't been all that swell for me to regret leaving it—although I will miss you. There ain't anybody but maybe you who will miss me. I'm better off in heaven, where I know I'm wanted, than being here on this miserable earth. But that's just me. Things are different for you, Sis! You listen to me good, now. You've got a father and mother, a grandmother, and a fine man who all love you dearly. You've got a heap of people praying every day for your recovery. You have to live. You've got to fight this thing and beat it! I know it ain't easy—trust me, I know. But Sis, when you've got this many people here who love you, you can't give in. You've got to live! Live for your parents and that Grandmother Lavender you go on about so much. Live for Shirley, who loves you more than anyone's ever loved me in my whole life. And Sis," she gave a crooked smile, "live for me. Live so that you can do with your life what I couldn't do with mine. I'd hate to think of this old world forgetting entirely that Meg Johnson ever existed. You must get better…and marry that boy…and be strong and healthy for me." She looked up. "Here's Nurse Anna coming back. My time's up. Goodnight, dearest."

Cecily somehow found her voice. "Goodnight, Meg." She leaned out over her cot and kissed Meg's cheek. "Sleep well."

Meg winked as Nurse Anna swept up and wheeled her silently away. Cecily fell back on her cot. Tears of grief would come later for her friend, but for now, there was only a new resolve. Meg's words had touched her in the very core of her being, dredging up strength she'd never known she had—never had needed before. She gazed up at the night sky, so thickly clustered with stars, and the pine trees standing out in black relief against its midnight blue.

"Dear God," she whispered. "Help me to live for Shirley, for Mama, for Father, for Grandmother Lavender, and for Meg. Give me the strength to endure, and the grace to live day by day." She suddenly felt very tired and peaceful. Without another thought, she laid her head back down against her thin pillow and fell asleep—a deep, restful, healing sleep, that would mark the beginning of an improvement that would completely baffle the doctors.

* * *

"Aren't you going to congratulate us?" asked Nan, laughing at their dumbfounded faces. "Or at least invite us in?"

"Won't you please come in?" said Di, very flatly.

"Thanks, we will," twinkled Nan. Di led the way up the stairs, followed by Nan, the Jerry, bearing two overnight bags, and finally Shirley, whose sense of humor was starting to return to him as he closed the door.

"You don't mind if we stay here tonight, do you?" asked Nan. "We can just sleep on your living room floor, if necessary."

"You can stay," said Shirley, smiling bemusedly. "On one condition. You tell us exactly what has happened."

A hint of color was starting to return to Di's cheeks. "Yes, Anne Blythe—Meredith," she said, shaking her finger at her twin. "Whatever happened to the big wedding you'd planned, and me being your maid of honor?" Her green eyes were laughing now.

Nan took off her hat, fluffed her hair, tossed her coat to Jerry, revealing a very smart dove-grey traveling suit, and dropped gracefully into the nearest seat. "Of course I'll tell you all about it. I've been _dying_ to tell you." She cleared her throat, waited for them all to be seated, and began.

"Well, I've been perfectly miserable for a year because Jerry wouldn't set a date for our wedding. He kept saying he wanted to be established first, even though I told him that could take forever. He wanted to provide a fine home and every luxury for me, while I was willing to live in a hovel just to be with him. It got very bad this spring, around Rilla's wedding. Jerry was going to be leaving for Ottawa to start out as an intern on Parliament Hill—which is wonderful—but it meant that he was going to be leaving me behind. I was so angry with him for being excited about leaving that I wouldn't speak to him at all before he left. Then I was absolutely miserable at home. I couldn't stand being around Rilla and Ken, and Jem and Faith. I thought about coming here to stay with you two—but I didn't know what I would do—I'm clever, but I don't want a career. All I've ever wanted was to be Jerry's wife and help him in his political career. A wife is very important to a politician. She can make or break his career. Finally, I couldn't stand it. I told Mother that I had to see Jerry and talk to him, or I was going to go mad. She and Dad paid for me to come out to Ottawa, where I surprised Jerry, found out he'd been perfectly miserable without me, and talked him into getting married now. Then we couldn't see why should wait even longer until we could both get home and have a big wedding like everybody else, so we went to a justice of the peace in Ottawa two days ago and just got married! We called home yesterday and told everyone. They were quite shocked and upset at first, but after they heard how happy and content we were, they settled down. We thought about calling you, but since we're only ninety miles away, we decided to just come down and surprise you!" Nan finished breathlessly and leaned back, her face lit up so that she looked like a flower.

Shirley couldn't help but smile at his sister's strong will. When Nan wanted something, she got it, and nothing could stand in her way. He could well imagine his parents' disappointment and shock at her impulsive act, but Nan just brushed off their disapproval airily. Looking at her happy face, though, and seeing Jerry beaming behind her, he couldn't doubt that they'd made the right decision. He walked over and kissed her cheek.

"I wish you all the best, sister dear," he said sincerely. At the same time, he couldn't help but think that him and Di were the only ones left unmarried. He set his jaw grimly, thinking that he wouldn't be unmarried for long, not if he could help it.


	16. Graduation

Shirley and Di stood arm-in-arm in the late May sunshine, eagerly awaiting the arrival of their parents, Susan, and Nan and Jerry, all coming in by train for Shirley's graduation tomorrow. Jem and Faith had wanted to come, but little Cecilia Joyce Blythe was still too small to make such a long trip. Rilla was having some complications with her pregnancy as well, and so Dad and Jem had ruled that she should stay home as well. Still, it was the first time any of the family except Jerry and Nan had visited them in Potsdam, so Shirley and Di were still quite pleased.

Di hugged Shirley's arm. "Oh, I can't wait to see them all!" she exclaimed. "I can't believe dear old Susan is actually leaving the Island for the first time in her life—and to come to the States, no less! She wouldn't do it for anyone but you, Shirley."

Shirley smiled absently. He was looking forward to seeing his family, and to culminating his formal education, but he was more keen about the 'phone call he had received from Paul that morning. He had said that Cecily's improvement was beyond anything the doctors had ever seen, and that she was going to be able to go out for brief trips and even see people soon. The thought of actually seeing her again after three years had sober, steady Shirley closer to a state of nervous excitement than he'd ever been in before.

"Look!" squealed Di. "Here comes the train!"

They eagerly stood on the platform as the steaming green monster roared to a stop and slowly disgorged its passengers. Shirley's eyes scanned the hordes of people disembarking—the graduating class was slightly larger than usual, meaning more people were coming in from out of town to witness it—until he saw some familiar figures at the other end.

"There they are!" he pointed. "Mother, Dad! Over here!"

The two groups pushed through the crowd and met in the middle. Mother and Dad looked the same as always—perhaps a few more lines around Dad's mouth and eyes, maybe a bit more silver in Mother's hair—but nothing else. Nan and Jerry, of course, looked very smart, but when Shirley went to hug Susan, his heart sank unexpectedly.

Why, Susan—_Mother_ Susan—looked old! He had never noticed before just how old she really was. Her hair had always been grey and her face always lined, as long as he could remember, but she had never looked so old and worn-down before. He wasn't sure if she really was getting so elderly, or if it was just that he hadn't seen her since Rilla's wedding, but either way, it left a nasty taste in his mouth.

Then a short figure popped out from behind Dad, grinning broadly, and Shirley forgot his worries for just a moment.

"Patrick Samuels! As I live and breathe, what are you doing here?"

Patrick's eyes twinkled merrily as he pumped Shirley's hand up and down. "Your charming sister wrote and casually mentioned that a visit from an old friend might be in order this weekend. You don't mind, do you?"

"My sister?" Shirley swung around to face Di, who was looking quite pleased with herself. "You planned this?"

She nodded smugly. "Patrick and I have been planning this ever since Christmas. I thought that seeing him would be a nice graduation present for you."

He pulled both of them into a mighty hug. "You two are incorrigible, but I'm so blessed to have you both." He kissed the top of Di's head, squeezed Patrick's shoulder briefly, and then released them, grinning widely.

"Well, enough of this!" boomed Dad. "I'm tired and starving and don't have time to stand around holding a million bags while my children get all sentimental." His hazel eyes shone proudly as he regarded them all, belying his jesting words. "Shirley, lead us to our hotel, son, and then for mercy's sake, get us some food! We haven't had a decent meal since we left Ingleside."

"Right you are, Dad," said Shirley, grabbing Susan's bag and leading the way out of the train station. "A meal, a brief rest, and then we'll show you our town."

They had booked rooms for the family at the old-fashioned Clarkson Inn, all except Patrick, who would be sleeping on the sofa in the apartment. After unpacking and enjoying a light tea in the tearoom, everyone was more than ready for some exploration. Shirley took them on a tour of both college campuses: Potsdam Normal School, the local teacher's college; and Clarkson Memorial School of Technology, both of which were covered in crab apple and cherry blossoms, drifting down from the trees all over the grounds.

Once they had finished ooh-ing and ah-ing over the colleges, Di took over. She showed the family the Orphan Home where she worked, as well as the many little shops and eateries downtown. Patrick and Jerry got very excited over White's Hardware, and Mother and Nan raved about all the beautiful old sandstone buildings and the sparkling Raquette River wending its way through the heart of the village. Susan sniffed and said it all looked very unhealthy to her, but even her eyes softened when she saw the little shop selling every kind of yarn and knitting patterns possible.

Meanwhile, Shirley and Dad lingered a little ways behind the others, talking in low voices.

"Dad," said Shirley painfully. "Is Susan—nothing is wrong with Susan, is there?"

Dad sighed heavily. "Her heart is not very strong, son," he replied quietly. "I've prescribed her some medicine and tried to get her to take things a bit easier, but you know Susan. She told me that she'd rather drop in the saddle than get old and feeble and be a burden on everybody."

"As if she could ever be a burden on us!" Shirley burst out indignantly, even as his heart contracted painfully within him. He couldn't stand to think of Susan—_dying._ It just didn't seem possible. She'd always been around Ingleside, and it wouldn't be the same without her.

Dad smiled wryly. "Well, of course we know that, but Susan has a great deal of pride. She has been taking the medicine, but it won't do much for her unless she slows down a bit too. And you know, son, the war was very hard on her, as was losing Walter. It aged all of us prematurely." For a moment, the lines in his face and the grey in his curls were very pronounced.

Shirley sighed. "How much longer does she have?"

Dad shrugged. "She could go on for months, maybe even a few years, or she could go tomorrow. The heart's a tricky thing, nearly impossible to predict. But Shirley," suddenly looking stern, "none of your siblings know about this other than Jem, and that the way it is to stay. Susan doesn't want people fussing over her, and she told me quite bluntly that she didn't want to see any tears shed on her behalf. I wouldn't have told you, except…well, you've always been closer to Susan than your brothers and sisters, and I felt you had the right to know. Jem didn't think she ought to have made this trip, but her heart was set on it, and I didn't feel it right to dissuade her. After all, it is her life, and seeing you will likely counteract any negative effects the journey might otherwise have on her."

Shirley blinked back stinging tears as he tried to take it all in. Oh, it didn't seem fair that just as one person he cared about was starting to get better another was getting worse!

Dad clapped him on the shoulder. "Cheer up, son! Moping over it won't change things. Susan wouldn't want this to spoil your graduation, so try to put it out of your mind for now, and just enjoy the time we have with her still. Besides," with a slight chuckle, "if I know Susan, she'll hang on a while longer, just to prove me wrong."

Shirley recognized the wisdom behind Dad's blunt words. He scrubbed the back of his hand roughly over his eyes and mustered a smile, determined to act as though nothing was different. After all, as Dad said, she could live for years still, and it wouldn't do to waste the time they did have by fearing the future.

* * *

Saturday dawned bright and sunny, with just enough of a breeze to keep things from getting too warm. Shirley tried to stand still while Di fussed over his navy blue suit, straightening his collar and smoothing out the wrinkles in the shoulders.

"I don't see why I couldn't have just worn my uniform," he said patiently, letting her undo and retie his necktie.

"Oh honestly, Shirley, your uniform would simply not have done for your graduation!" she exclaimed. "This suit makes you look very handsome."

"Or as handsome as he ever can look," teased Patrick dryly, watching the performance from his seat on the living room couch.

Shirley threw the clothes brush at him, but Patrick merely ducked and came up grinning.

"Really, you two, anyone would think you were about four years old from the way you act," scolded Di good-naturedly. She stepped back and looked Shirley over critically. "There, now you're ready."

"Good," said Shirley, glancing at the clock. "Because if I don't leave right now I'll be late."

"We'll be there cheering you on!" called Di as he dashed out the door.

"Don't trip when you walk across the stage!" added Patrick.

Shirley chuckled to himself as he loped quickly to the college.

When he did walk across the stage to receive his diploma—taking great care to _not_ trip—he looked out and saw them all sitting there, beaming with pride: Mother and Dad, misty-eyes and reminiscing over _their_ graduation; Susan, as staunch and strong and loving as ever; Nan, with her growing middle nicely disguised by the vertical stripes of her chocolate-and-ivory dress, holding Jerry's hand; and Patrick sitting next to Di, the two of them grinning up at him and waving. A great flood of love for them all washed over Shirley as the president shook his hand and pronounced him a full-fledged Bachelor of Science. He couldn't imagine a better family anywhere, for anyone, and he was so blessed to have been born into such a clan. For the moment, all else, even the parchment proclaiming his graduation faded into lesser importance compared with the family he'd been given.


	17. The Question

Shirley was glad that he was familiar enough with the road from Potsdam to Saranac Lake to not have to watch it too closely as he bumped along in his second-hand automobile on one late September afternoon. All along the roadside the trees were resplendent in their autumn colors. Proud maples flaunted their crimson and scarlet draperies, cheerful beeches displayed their tan and brown leaves, the stately sumacs were aglow with orange, and delicate birches gently waved their yellow flags. The air was crisp and clean, and all nature seemed to be putting on a show. Even on an errand that made him nervous as a child awaiting punishment (something that had been rare for him, protected as he'd always been by Susan), Shirley couldn't help but have his spirits lifted by the glory of the day.

The morning after graduation, the family had just returned from church when the 'phone rang. It was Paul Irving for Shirley, and his news was, thankfully, good. Cecily had been pronounced well enough to receive visitors, and she was allowed to make small day trips now. The next day, after the family left, Shirley spent some of his hard-earned money on a used auto and drove up to the Trudeau Institute. Thereafter, for the rest of the summer, he would hop in his auto after he finished work on Saturday, drive to Saranac, stay the night and go to church in Lake Placid with the Irvings, spend all day Sunday with Cecily, and come home late Sunday night so that he could start work again on Monday. It was exhausting, but seeing Cecily's hollow, white cheeks fill out again and flush with health, watching her eyes brighten back to their starry gleam from the dullness they'd had, hearing her weak, thin voice become rich and full again, made it all worth it.

He'd nearly cried when he'd first seen her. Could this wasted woman possibly be the same girl he'd fallen in love with? He'd known in his head what tuberculosis did to a person, but he'd never seen it so clearly before. Still, the spirit inside the worn-out body was the same, and that, truly, was what Shirley loved. In fact, as he spent more time with her, he was able to see what the years of pain and suffering had done for her. The innocence of the young girl's soul was gone, replaced by a woman's character, deepened and made even more beautiful and strong. The devastation to her body only made her strength and purity shine through all the brighter. After the first few visits, Shirley found himself more in love than ever.

They never spoke of love, however. He believed she loved him—thought he could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice—but he didn't want to bring any pressure on her or do anything to damage their beautiful friendship, so he kept quiet, doing his wooing only with his eyes. Last week, however, the doctors told Paul and Rachel that Cecily was well enough to be discharged soon—although they recommended that she remain in the Adirondacks for a few years still, just until she regained all her strength. Shirley no longer had any excuse to keep silent.

* * *

Cecily waited on the front porch of the Trudeau Institute. It was Sunday afternoon, and she was expecting to see Shirley drive up in his disreputable old auto, grinning quietly, ready to take her off for another day's adventure. All summer he had come up in the same way, to take her for a drive around Lake Flower, or to have a picnic on the banks of Mirror Lake, or to explore the tiny village of Lake Placid, so famous for all its winter sports, or to just drive to some beautiful spot and sit, sometimes talking, sometimes not. This summer had been the most magical one she'd ever known. She wished it could go on forever, but she knew, deep down, that it couldn't. Already the leaves were turning and the seasons changing. She knew that her time in the Trudeau Institute was almost at an end, and she somehow instinctively knew as well that things would change between her and Shirley as well, once she was outside the protective walls of the sanitarium. She believed that Shirley still loved her, but he hadn't said anything about it all summer. This suited her, as she was content just to be with him, strengthened by his very presence. Still, as she did grow stronger, the desire to move on with their relationship grew as well. She was ready to tell him that she loved him, and hoped that maybe, today would be the day she gained the courage to say those words to his face.

Her reverie was interrupted by the familiar rumble and backfiring of Shirley's car. He pulled up the long drive and hopped out, waving a lean brown hand.

"Good day, sunshine," he called out teasingly.

Cecily, in a short yellow skirt and white top, with a yellow band encircling her short chestnut curls, blushed. "What is our plan for today, sir knight?" she answered in kind.

Shirley motioned grandiloquently at the panorama around them. "Mother Nature is decked out in her finest, and I thought we'd take full advantage of it. What say you to a hike up Mt. Van Hovenburg?"

Cecily bit her lip. "Oh Shirley, it sounds beautiful…but can we? I mean, the doctors still say I shouldn't overexert myself."

"Don't worry," said Shirley, suddenly serious. "It's one of the lowest peaks in the area, and it's only a little over two miles. But the view is breathtaking, and there's something up there I want you to see. If you start getting too tired I'll carry you."

Cecily flushed at the idea of being carried by Shirley. Fortunately, he didn't seem to notice her bright cheeks, so she managed to agree without appearing too embarrassed. "What is it you want to show me?" she asked as he helped her into the auto.

He merely smiled.

As they drove, they discussed many things: the weather, the birth of Nan's and Rilla's sons, the new Premier of P.E.I, and the first flight of the _U.S.S. Shenandoah_, the United States' first airship. Cecily was beginning to think she'd never have a chance to discuss matters of the heart with Shirley. She was glad he considered her enough of an equal to be willing to discuss every topic he was interested in with her, but she did wish that they could leave the world and other people alone for a few moments and talk about them.

They started on their hike, going very slowly for Cecily's sake, and all talk ceased. Although she did find herself needing several breaks and chances to rest, Cecily was very glad they'd come. The pine and sumac stands all around the trail made for a beautiful picture, with the dark green of the pines contrasting sharply with the flaming leaves of the sumac.

"Oh," she sighed, during one of their breaks, "I'm so glad we came. Even if we don't make it to the top, this is still simply lovely."

"We'll make it," said Shirley, his brown eyes fixed intently on her. "We're nearly there now."

Sure enough, it wasn't too much longer before they broke free of the trees and stood upon the summit. Shirley took her arm and gently guided her toward the edge. "Look you there," he said, waving an arm at the view.

Cecily caught her breath as she took in the surrounding high peaks and the glimmer of blue from Mirror Lake. The sun shone down on the forests around, almost making it look as though the mountains themselves were on fire. She tilted her head up and took in the deep, cloudless blue of the sky. For a moment, her eyes closed, and she almost believed she could feel health and life stirring in her veins.

"Oh," she breathed deeply. "It's so easy to believe in God up here. I almost feel like we're on the very tip of heaven." She turned around to look at Shirley, who had moved back from the edge and was watching her intently again. "Was this what you wanted to show me?"

"Well, I did want you to see this, but that wasn't all," he replied mysteriously, his eyes never leaving her face.

"What was it, then?" she asked, starting to feel embarrassed by his piercing gaze. She looked around a little, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever it was, and turned her eyes back to him questioningly.

She was startled beyond belief when he moved closer to her, took one of her hands in his, and dropped to one knee.

"Cecily Irving," he said seriously, as she started to realize what he was doing. Tears filled her blue eyes as he continued. "You are the most wonderful woman I have ever met, and I love you more than I ever thought possible. It would be the greatest joy of my life if you would consent to be my wife." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small band of white gold, set with one tiny diamond. "Will you marry me?"

Cecily pulled her hand away and put them both over her face. Joy like she'd never known broke over her in waves. For a moment she almost felt that she couldn't marry him; he was so strong, and so good, and she was so weak and unworthy, but then she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was meant to be. No matter what the future might bring, she and Shirley were meant to be together. She opened her eyes, sparkling with unshed tears, and looked at him with her heart in her eyes.

"Yes," she whispered.

Shirley swept her into her arms, and there atop the mountain, in the glory of the September day, their lips met for the first time, and they knew that God had brought them together.

* * *

**_Author's Note:_**_ Yes, I am a hopeless romantic: my husband proposed to me in September, on top of Mt. Van Hovenburg, and I couldn't resist using the setting for Shirley and Cecily. Of course, they won't go to Mr. Mike's for dinner afterwards and be so wrapped up in the fact that they are engaged that they forget to leave a tip for the waitress! (We still feel guilty over that) All seems smooth sailing for these two, but the story's not over yet. Three more chapters to go! As always, thank you so much everyone who reviews, you are all so kind and gracious, and your reviews always make my day. _


	18. An October Wedding

Great was the rejoicing throughout both families when the news of Shirley and Cecily's engagement became known. Everyone had ideas and plans about how they ought to do their wedding and what they should do afterward. Rilla and Faith were _dying_ for them to come back to the Glen for one more big family wedding. Nan didn't care where it happened but wanted it to take place after the New Year, because she and Jerry were "up to their ears" in politicking and couldn't possibly get away before then. Jem thought they ought to wait for a little while anyway, just to make sure Cecily really was cured. Rachel "couldn't bear" to be parted from her darling again so soon, and begged them to wait for a year, at least. Jerry thought they should get married right away, Ken thought they should wait until Shirley was more established, and Mother and Dad and Paul were simply so happy they couldn't even speak about it. Only Miss Lavender and Di remained calm about the whole thing. Miss Lavender advised them, with a twinkle in her soft eyes, to just go ahead and do as they pleased, without worrying about anyone else's feelings, and Di just beamed at them and said she knew it was going to happen someday.

Shirley didn't want to worry Cecily with all the differing opinions. They had made their plans atop the mountain that golden September afternoon, and he was not to be swerved from it. He quietly and resolutely told everyone that they were going to be married immediately, as soon as he could find a house, and they were going to stay in the Adirondacks, and he was going to start working for an architectural company in Lake Placid. The wedding would be quiet and simple, with no fuss, and nothing to tire Cecily. Her needs were to be considered over everything else.

Naturally, there was quite a bit of uproar over this, but Susan—who everyone thought would be the most upset at her little boy getting married and her not being able to see him (as her heart condition now made traveling utterly out of the question)—silenced them all.

"It is those blessed children's lives, and their decisions, and I'll not hear one word against them. They have endured enough pain and suffering, and they need not dance to anyone else's tune any longer. They will do things their way, and nobody will bother them, or you'll have Susan to answer to," looking so grim and fierce that everyone quieted down and decided, on reflection, that doing things simply really was the best plan after all. To be sure, Rachel wasn't wholly convinced by Susan's words, but when she realized that the two were going to stay near them, she decided it wouldn't be like losing her baby after all.

And so the plans went forth. Miss Lavender and Rachel began sewing a wedding dress for Cecily—a simple little silvery-grey silk slip, that shimmered when she moved and clung softly to her form. Di tore through her wardrobe looking for a bridesmaid's dress—"This is absolutely the last time—once more and I'll be under the 'three times a bridesmaid' curse!" and Patrick came down from Toronto, where he was working, to act as Shirley's best man. Shirley himself made the job transfer painlessly from contractor to architect, thanks in part to the excellent recommendation given to him by his employers. He began hunting for small houses, both alone and with Cecily, and dreamed about the day when he could build her a palace.

* * *

Two weeks after their engagement, Shirley entered the Irvings' rented house with a satisfied glow.

"I've found us a nest, sweetheart," he announced.

"Oh, where?" cried Cecily, looking up from the tablecloths she was hemming.

"Right in the heart of Lake Placid, not two blocks from the lake," he answered proudly, sitting down next to her and stretching out his long legs with a sigh. "It's a tiny little bungalow, but we don't need anything very large. It has the quaintest little kitchen and pantry you ever saw, with a jam cupboard to make Susan weep with envy. A living room and dining room finish off the downstairs, and there are just two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs—one for us, and one for when we have guests over. It's sound structurally, well-designed, and should suit our needs quite well."

"How much?" asked Paul practically. He was sitting at his desk, writing poetry again for the first time in two and a half years.

"I have to rent it," answered Shirley. "The owner is an elderly lady who is living with her daughters since her husband died, but she doesn't want to sell the house that holds so many happy memories from her life. The rent is only $60. a month to a 'nice young couple' as she called us." He grinned.

"That's not bad at all," said Miss Lavender briskly. "So when can you move in?"

"Next week, providing Cecily and I can get married before then." He reached over and picked up Cecily's small hand. "How about it, sweetheart? Are you willing to get married in one week?"

"Oh yes," she answered immediately, glowing with excitement. "Mama and Grandmother Lavender just finished my dress last night, and all we have left to do for my hope chest are these tablecloths and—some other things," she ended lamely, blushing a little. Shirley guessed she was referring to undergarments, and was hard pressed to keep from chuckling.

Rachel opened her mouth to protest against the wedding taking place so soon, looked at the two contented faces in front of her, and closed it again without a word.

"All right, then," said Shirley with satisfaction. "We will get married this Friday and move in to our new little home Saturday." He stood up and kissed the top of Cecily's dark head. "I'll 'phone Mrs. Anderson this evening and seal the deal. Right now I'd best be off back to Potsdam to let Di know, and to call Mother and Dad. I'll see you all tomorrow."

"I'll call Charlotta first thing in the morning," commented Miss Lavender.

On his way out the door, Shirley stopped and popped his head back in quizzically. "Charlotta the Fourth?" as if there were dozens of Charlottas Miss Lavender would be calling. "Why will you be 'phoning her?"

Miss Lavender smiled sweetly. "Now Shirley, I know that you think you can work all day and then come home and take care of all the housework in the evening so that Cecily doesn't have to do it all, but I'll tell you right now that not only is it impossible, it's a poor way to start out your married life, with you doing everything and being exhausted. So as my wedding gift to the two of you, I'm hiring Charlotta the Fourth's youngest daughter—she just turned fourteen—to come help out with the housework. I've asked her to arrive a week after you've settled. And no arguing!" She closed her mouth with a snap.

Shirley was inclined to argue the matter anyway—he didn't want an intruder spoiling the sweetness of their new life together—but looking at Cecily's still-delicate face and frail figure, he acknowledged the practicality of Miss Lavender's plan, and accepted gracefully.

* * *

Di was delighted when Shirley told her when the wedding was to be, as was Patrick, who was once again sleeping on their couch until after the wedding. "Perfect!" she exclaimed. "And oh, Shirley, I just found out today. There's a Foundling Home in Toronto that's in danger of having to shut its doors. Sister Mary Elizabeth told me about it, and recommended that I leave here to try my hand at putting it back on its feet and running it myself! Can you believe the perfect timing? You don't need me anymore, and I have my shot at running my own orphanage, just like I've dreamed of!" She raised her arms to the sky and danced around the living room, the lamplight reflecting off her copper hair with burnished tints.

Shirley got a bit of a shock at thinking of Di leaving. For some reason, he'd begun to think of her as always being around, there to laugh with and confide in. but, he reminded himself, she had only been staying there for his sake, and now that his dream was coming true, he had no reason to try to take hers away from her. He smiled with genuine happiness. "That's wonderful, sister o' mine," he congratulated her heartily. "I'll miss you, but I'm so happy for you."

She stopped dancing and moved over to rub her cheek against the rough shoulder of his jacket. "I'll miss you too. We've had some good times these past two years, haven't we? I'll never forget you coming home every day from the first house you were building and telling me all about every detail when I couldn't have cared less!"

"Or how I could never keep all the orphans straight that you took care of," countered Shirley.

"Do you remember that hike we took at Lampson Falls and I almost fell in and in you rescuing me you fell in yourself and were carried downstream forever before you could get out? I thought you were going to go over the falls and nearly went into hysterics!"

Shirley laughed. "I remember. I also remember the time I took you out to the movies and all my college buddies thought you were my girl, not my sister."

Di giggled. "You were so embarrassed…remember when I brought little Jacky Borden home for an afternoon away from the Home and he nearly destroyed the place?"

"Or when Nan and Jerry startled us that one night and announced that they'd eloped?"

"Or all those we had that picnic on the banks of the Raquette River?"

"Or…"

They spent most of that night in reminiscing over the past two years. Patrick just sat and listened, and occasionally interjected a smart remark at Shirley's expense. Looking at him and Di giggling together, Shirley wondered if perhaps, someday in the future, the two of them would end up as more than friends. Patrick was working in Toronto, and Di was moving there…who knew what could happen? At any rate, he wasn't going to try to matchmake between his best friend and favorite sister. He had enough romance on his mind with his approaching wedding.

* * *

Friday evening, Shirley and Cecily were at the home of the Baptist minister in Lake Placid, along with Di, Patrick, Paul, Rachel, Miss Lavender, Mother and Dad, who had barely managed to get there on time. Cecily looked like a delicate lily in her shimmering silver gown, her face simply radiant with happiness. Shirley held onto her hand tightly, unable to believe that finally, after all the waiting and suffering, she was finally going to be his. He couldn't stop thanking God for this wonderful gift He'd given to him, and vowed that he would do everything in his power to be worthy of it.

The minister, a kindly old man with white hair, who was simply delighted to have all these people squeezed into his living room, read the marriage ceremony in his quavery old voice, and asked them to recite their vows. Shirley spoke first, his deep voice trembling with emotion, his brown eyes full of promise.

"Cecily, I love you. Long ago you were just a dream and a prayer. This day, like a dream come true, the Lord Himself has answered that prayer. For today, Cecily, you as my joy become my crown. I thank Him for the honor of going through time with you. Thank you for being what you are to me. With our future as bright as the promises of God, I will care for you, honor and protect you. I lay down my life for you, my friend and my love. Today I give to you me."

Amid the sniffles and the rustles of the women taking out their hankies, Cecily spoke back, her pure voice strong and clear and sweet, her eyes speaking of her sincerity. "Shirley, I love you and I know you love me. I am confident that God has chosen you to be my husband. It is my prayer and desire that you will find in me the helpmeet God designed especially for you, and in confidence I pledge to you my life as an obedient, faithful and loving wife, and forever friend. Whither thou goest I will go, whither thou lodgest I will lodge, thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God."

There was a hushed silence as they slipped the simple bands of white gold onto each others' fingers, and then the minister placed his hands over their clasped ones and spoke again.

"Therefore, what God has joined together, let no man break asunder. Go in peace and love. Amen."

* * *

The wedding supper at the Irvings was simple and fun, with ancient jokes being dredged up and brought forth as new, and more and more extravagant toasts being made to the new couple. Finally, as the new moon floated by in the deep sky and the first stars began to twinkle silvery, Shirley escorted his bride from her parents' home to their auto, and they drove in silence through the frosty night to their new home. Cecily gave one little gasp of delight when she saw the bungalow—just a little tiny dusty-blue-and-cream cottage, with fat little windows winking at them and a door set right in the middle like a nose—nothing much to speak of, but it was theirs. Shirley helped her out of the car and led her across the threshold.

"Welcome home, dearest," he whispered as they stepped inside.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** I have never been so tempted to end a story here as I am right now, but to do so would sort of ruin the whole point. So, I will quench my romantic desires and satisfy my artistic ones, and provide the proper ending that I've had in mind ever since this story first came to me. The rest will be coming soon. (Hey--I now have over 50 reveiws--woo-hoo!)_


	19. Bird with a Broken Wing

In all his later years, Shirley looked back on that first year of marriage as a time of exquisite, perfect happiness. What bliss to work all day designing buildings and bridges—really using your creativity and your common-sense—and then come home to a dear little blue-and-cream home with a beloved wife awaiting you, her flower-like face lit up, and a beaming Charlotta the Fifth hovering in the background.

For Charlotta the Fifth was established quite happily at the little house, and seemed to belong to it as much as the jam cupboards and cushioned window seat looking out onto the lake. Her real name was Jane—just Jane—but from the first she was Charlotta the Fifth to the Irvings and Blythes. She was almost an exact duplicate of her mother, snub nose, freckled face, wide mouth and all. Her hair was bobbed and held in place with a "jaunty" blue band with an enormous bow to one side, looking exactly like a large blue butterfly perched on her ear. She "adored" Cecily, and thought Shirley the finest husband any girl could have (mainly because he brought Cecily home flowers every night). For their part, the young newlyweds delighted in the girl, and there was no denying that she had a knack for housework. She refused to let Cecily do anything; they had a pitched battle over who was to do the cooking, settled finally by Shirley declaring that Charlotta could make the meals three days a week, Cecily three days, and he himself would do the cooking on Sundays. This decided, Cecily yielded the rest of the household chores to Charlotta and spent her days walking by the lake, sewing in the living room, or reading and dreaming in the window seat.

She wasn't growing any stronger, something that concerned the Irvings and the doctors, but of which Shirley made light. She would—he knew it—and even if she remained delicate all her days, what of it? She was happy and healthy, and neither of them had any fears for the future.

The evenings were their favorite part of each day. After they had finished eating and the dishes were cleared away, they would go and sit in the living room—Shirley in his overstuffed "easy chair" and Cecily on her low stool by his feet, her head leaning against his knee. They would tell each other about their days, and Shirley would read the newspaper and they would discuss world affairs, or Cecily would read a bit of poetry or something interesting she had discovered that day. Sometimes they would talk about their future plans and all the places they would go visit—Paris, England, bonny Scotland, ancient Rome…Shirley thought that visiting lands he had flown over during the war with Cecily would take some of the sour taste from his mouth when he thought of them.

Sometimes Paul and Rachel would come over and the four of them would have a grand visit, gathered around the little fireplace. Shirley and Cecily didn't get to know too many of their neighbors. Most of them were modern young couples, busy being shocking and contemporary, hosting wild parties and playing raucous music long into the night. They contemptuously viewed the Blythes as old-fashioned and dull, and a mutual polite animosity existed.

Not that they needed anyone else to be happy. As the days slipped by and fall turned to winter, Shirley dug out their old skates and they spent hours in the heart of the village, skating along together on the ice rink. Some Sunday afternoons they would exchange skates for skis or snowshoes and go out 'cross-country. Mirror Lake froze over, and an enterprising elderly man charged for dogsled rides across the frozen expanse. At any given time one could hear the yelps of the huskies and the laughter of the passengers echoing over the ice.

They always kept a fire burning in the fireplace, and Charlotta made sure to have hot cider and homemade bread ready for them when they would come back after an outing, cheeks flushed with cold and fresh air, laughter rising on their lips.

* * *

Christmas approached; their first Christmas together! Paul and Rachel invited them to spend the day with them, and Jerry and Nan sent an invitation down from Ottawa, but Shirley and Cecily decided that they wanted to spend their first Christmas alone, in their own little house. Shirley tramped off to the woods and brought home a darling little spruce tree, which they set up in one corner of the living room and decorated simply and elegantly, with shimmering glass half-whorls and spheres, delicate golden balls, and shining silver trim. They set an angel on the tip, and tied tiny white candles to every limb. Green garlands went up in every room and over the stair rail, mistletoe was tied up in every doorway, holly bedecked the windows, and an air of festivity pervaded all through the house. Cecily and Charlotta spent hours in the kitchen, poring over cookbooks, while Shirley searched the stores to find just the perfect gift for his beautiful bride.

Christmas Eve they hung up three stockings over the fireplace, and then gathered around it for one last mug of hot cocoa while Shirley read the Christmas story from Luke, and Cecily recited the sweet tale of why Christmas trees are always green.

"Winter was coming, and the birds had flown far to the south, where the air was warm and they could find berries to eat. One little bird had broken its wing and could not fly with the others. It was alone in the cold world of frost and snow. The forest looked warm, and it made its way to the trees as well as it could, to ask for help.

"First it came to a birch tree. 'Beautiful birch tree,' it said, 'my wing is broken, and my friends have flown away. May I live among your branches till they come back to me?'

"'No, indeed,' answered the birch tree, drawing her fair green leaves away. 'We of the great forest have our own birds to help. I can do nothing for you.'

"'The birch is not very strong,' said the little bird to itself, 'and it might be that she could not hold me easily. I will ask the oak.' So the bird said: 'Great oak tree, you are so strong, will you not let me live on your boughs till my friends come back in the springtime?'

"'In the springtime!' cried the oak. 'That is a long way off. How do I know what you might do in all that time? Birds are always looking for something to eat, and you might even eat up some of my acorns.'

"'It may be that the willow will be kind to me,' thought the bird, and it said: 'Gentle willow, my wing is broken, and I could not fly to the south with the other birds. May I live on your branches till the springtime?'

"The willow did not look gentle then, for she drew herself up proudly and said: 'Indeed, I do not know you, and we willows never talk to people whom we do not know. Very likely there are trees somewhere that will take in strange birds. Leave me at once.'

"The poor little bird did not know what to do. Its wing was not yet strong, but it began to fly away as well as it could. Before it had gone far a voice was heard. '"Little bird,' it said, 'where are you going?'

"'Indeed, I do not know,' answered the bird sadly. 'I am very cold.'

"'Come right here, then,' said the friendly spruce tree, for it was her voice that had called. 'You shall live on my warmest branch all winter if you choose.'

"'Will you really let me?' asked the little bird eagerly.

"'Indeed, I will,' answered the kind-hearted spruce tree. 'If your friends have flown away, it is time for the trees to help you. Here is the branch where my leaves are thickest and softest.'

"'My branches are not very thick,' said the friendly pine tree, 'but I am big and strong, and I can keep the North Wind from you and the spruce.'

"'I can help, too,' said a little juniper tree. 'I can give you berries all winter long, and every bird knows that juniper berries are good.'

"So the spruce gave the lonely little bird a home; the pine kept the cold North Wind away from it; and the juniper gave it berries to eat. The other trees looked on and talked together wisely.

"'I would not have strange birds on my boughs,' said the birch.

"'I shall not give my acorns away for any one,' said the oak.

"'I never have anything to do with strangers,' said the willow, and the three trees drew their leaves closely about them.

"In the morning all those shining, green leaves lay on the ground, for a cold North Wind had come in the night, and every leaf that it touched fell from the tree.

"'May I touch every leaf in the forest?' asked the wind in its frolic.

"'No,' said the Frost King. 'The trees that have been kind to the little bird with the broken wing may keep their leaves.'

"This is why the leaves of the spruce, the pine, and the juniper are always green."

"Oh ma'am," sniffed Charlotta, furtively whisking her hand across her eyes. "That's just beautiful, Mrs. Blythe, ma'am."

"Indeed it is," agreed Shirley, leaning forward to kiss his wife on the tip of her nose.

"I've always loved that tale," reflected Cecily, gazing into the flickering flames dancing around the Yule log. "I always felt so sorry for the poor little bird with the broken wing, and so angry at the selfish trees who wouldn't help it. It must have been so lonely and lost, the poor little thing."

"Ah," said Shirley, "But then imagine its joy when the evergreens gave it shelter at last. And imagine how happy they must have been to be able to take care of such a delicate and beautiful little thing."

"Maybe its wing never healed entirely," said Cecily softly. "Maybe it stayed protected and loved by the evergreens for the rest of its life, always sheltered from winter's cold blast by their strength."

Charlotta couldn't quite understand what they were talking about, but she knew it had to be something sweet by the way they looked at each other.

* * *

Winter turned to spring, and the birds came back in droves, singing madly, even drowning out the music from the neighbors. Little rabbits hopped briskly around the yard, and Cecily began a flower garden, spending hours in the mud, tending her plants like children. Shirley still looked at her with awe, amazed that she was truly his. Sometimes he felt that it was all a dream, and he would wake up presently and find himself alone. He couldn't quite shake the thought that it was too good to last.

Charlotte watched them rather wistfully, thinking how wonderful it would be to have someone love _her_ the way Mr. Blythe loved Mrs. Blythe. She couldn't help but feel it was almost indecent for two people to be as much in love as they were—why, he would kiss her whether anyone was watching or not!—but she did think it was just beautiful and so romantic.

Paul and Rachel and Miss Lavender watched them with concern, worrying what would happen to Shirley if Cecily were to suffer a relapse.

"I've never seen a man set such store on a woman before," sighed Rachel, half-proudly, half-worriedly.

"Not to fret, Rachel dear," said Miss Lavender softly. "Shirley loves her deeply, true—but this side idolatry."

"But still…" trailed off Rachel, looking out the window at the two loitering in the garden.

Paul came and stood beside her. "God has them in the palm of His hand, dear," putting his arm around his wife. "He will not give them more to endure than they can bear. Even if something does happen, they will have these memories, that nothing can take away, and nothing tarnish. Don't put yourself in the place of God, dear. As much as we love them, He loves them still more."

* * *

And so spring turned to summer, and summer to fall, and before they knew it, their one-year anniversary came.

"It doesn't seem possible that a whole year has gone by," sighed Cecily that morning.

Shirley kissed the top of her shining head. "The first beautiful year of many, my heart."

"It has been a beautiful year, hasn't it?" she said. She smiled. "I may be just a bird with a broken wing, but thanks to my evergreen tree, I haven't felt any of the harsh north winds this year."

"And the life of this evergreen has been made more beautiful than could possibly be imagines thanks to the presence of his little songbird," answered Shirley. Then he laughed at himself. "My family would never believe I could be so poetical! I guess love really does makes poets of us all." He put his arms around his wife and held her close, reveling in her nearness, his soul filled with deeper joy than he'd ever believed possible.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** The story of "Why the Evergreen Trees Never Lose Their Leaves" was written by Florence Holbrook._


	20. Joy and Sorrow

Shirley came home from work one early October evening, whistling happily. The house he was designing was coming along nicely; the old lady for whom he was building it had _not_ changed her mind again about the windows, which was a first, and a great relief as they were already behind schedule. The air was crisp with autumn's bite, and he was thinking absently about going apple-picking Cecily next weekend, when a flying figure came running out of the front door toward him. He recognized Charlotta's ridiculous blue bow before anything else, and a cold chill touched his heart. Had anything happened to Cecily?

"What is it, Charlotta?" he asked anxiously.

Their handmaiden's freckled face was white with terror. "Oh sir—oh Mr. Blythe—Mrs. Blythe—she—she just collapsed on the floor, sir! We were just standing there planning supper, and she—she just crumpled!"

Without waiting to hear any more, Shirley took off at a dead run for the kitchen. He found Cecily lying in a heap of crumpled cotton, her face pale, her hands cold. Shirley picked her head up and placed it in his lap, patting her cheeks and calling her name urgently.

"Cecily—Cecily dearest—wake up, my heart—wake up—Cecily—please, darling, wake up." He looked up as Charlotta entered. "Charlotta, call the doctor, quickly."

"Yes sir," gasped out Charlotta.

Cecily still hadn't awakened by the time young Doctor Morris arrived. Without a word, the young man carried her up to the bedroom and attempted to bring her 'round. Shirley paced outside the closed door in the hallway, nervously chewing his lower lip. What was wrong with his wife? Was it the tuberculosis? He couldn't believe that anything could really be wrong—not now. Her face had looked so white, so still, almost like she was…he couldn't even bring himself to think the word.

Downstairs, Charlotta had 'phoned the Irvings and then fled to the kitchen, where she sat down in the corner and cried. Paul, Rachel, and Miss Lavender hurried right over, waiting for the doctor's report in the living room.

The shadows had deepened into twilight by the time Dr. Morris came out of the bedroom. Shirley caught at his arm desperately.

"Doctor—my wife—is she okay? What is wrong with her?"

The doctor paused before answering, looking sadly at the man in front of him. It was moments like this that made him wish he'd become a farmer like his father instead of a doctor.

"She's awake. I was able to revive her," he began cautiously.

Shirley's legs gave out from beneath him. He leaned abruptly against the wall. "Thank God." He took a few deep breaths to steady his nerves. "May I go in to see her?"

"Yes," answered Dr. Morris, "but there's something you should know, first."

Shirley stood up. He looked at the doctor's set face, and a strange numbness seemed to settle around his heart. He set his teeth. "What?"

* * *

Cecily looked very young and frail all alone in their bed, covered with the cheery red-and-white patchwork quilt given to them by Susan for their wedding. Her face was still very white, but she managed a smile for Shirley when he went in.

"Hello, dearest," she whispered. "I'm sorry I gave you such a fright. I don't know what came over me. One moment everything seemed fine, and the next…" She gave a rueful smile.

Shirley managed a smile back through numb lips. His legs felt wooden as he moved over and sat next to her on the bed. He picked up her hand and held it to his cheek, feeling some of her life pour back into him. Tears started to sting at the back of his eyes, but he forced them back resolutely. There would be a time for tears later. Now he needed to be strong for his beloved.

"There is no need to apologize, my heart," he said gently. "I have—good news—for you."

A spark lit her blue eyes. "What?"

Shirley squeezed her hand. "It seems God has decided to bless us with children—two, not just one. Darling, you're carrying twins!"

"Oh!" Cecily fell back against the pillows, her eyes growing huge. "Oh Shirley—babies! Two of them! Oh, I cannot believe it."

"Try to stay calm," Shirley cautioned her, his heart breaking within him. Such news should have been joy, but instead it brought him nothing but sorrow. "You must be very careful from now on. Dr. Morris said that you shouldn't exert yourself at all."

"I won't," she answered, happy tears swimming in her eyes. "I'll do whatever the doctor tells me to do. I don't want anything to jeopardize our babies' lives. Oh Shirley, wait until Mama and Father hear this! We must tell them immediately. They'll be so happy, they've always wanted grandchildren."

"I'll go tell them," said Shirley. "They're here, waiting to hear how you are. You rest now, and I'll go tell them."

"I will," she answered immediately. She laid her head back obediently. "Go—tell them. I'll be quiet and resting until you come back."

Shirley stood up and left the room. He knew he would have to tell her the rest of what Morris had said soon, but he couldn't bring himself to dampen her joy so soon. he went downstairs to find his in-laws looking very pale, with Rachel sobbing into her handkerchief.

"Morris told us," Paul said immediately. He was shaken but in control, only his eyes, so like his daughter's, showing his anguish. "How is she?"

Shirley sank to the floor and covered his face with his hands. "I couldn't tell her," he replied, his voice muffled. "I told her about the babies—but nothing else. I couldn't bring myself to tell her yet."

"Is there nothing that can be done?" asked Miss Lavender from her seat in the shadows, tears evident in her voice.

Shirley shook his head hopelessly. "Morris says there is no chance. One baby, perhaps, but not two. She just doesn't have the strength."

Paul also sat down quickly. "God have mercy," he murmured. "My little girl—oh God!"

Nobody else said anything. All the agony felt by them all had been expressed in that one age-old cry.

Shirley sat there for a moment longer, then struggled to his feet. "I'm sorry…but I must go back up to her. You're welcome to stay…but I can't be parted from her. Besides, I have to tell her at some point."

"Go to her, son," said Paul hoarsely. "We'll be fine."

Shirley fled back up the stairs. Before he opened the door to their room, however, he leaned against the wall, his eyes staring unseeingly out the hall window. He couldn't bring himself to grasp it yet—couldn't understand it fully. It seemed like some hideous nightmare, from which he _had_ to awake at some point. His bride—his beautiful wife—the love of his life—his little bird with the broken wing. It couldn't be real—it just couldn't. God couldn't do this to them.

He rallied himself and pushed the door open. Cecily looked like she was asleep, but her eyes opened as soon as he came in.

"I've been resting," she said with a happy little laugh. "But I couldn't fall asleep. I'm too happy to sleep." She looked at him searchingly as he once again came and sat next to her. "Dearest…you are not happy. What's wrong?"

Shirley swallowed. He had to tell her. "The—the doctor said…" He couldn't quite finish the sentence.

"What?" she cried. Her face suddenly flushed with terror. "There's nothing wrong with the babies, is there?"

"No…not the babies," said Shirley. He placed his hand over her heart. "I'll tell you…but you must stay calm."

"I will," she whispered.

Shirley closed his eyes. He couldn't bear to look at her. "The doctor said that you are not strong enough to give birth to two babies. He—he said—he said that you won't be able to recover from it—he said that"—He couldn't go on.

Cecily finished for him. "He said that I am going to die."

Shirley opened his eyes. Her sweet face was determined, but not shaken or even saddened. She smiled at his look of shock. "Dear Shirley, do you think I didn't know? I have faced death so many times in the sanatorium. I know what he looks like. I knew, as soon as I woke up, that I did not have much longer. That's why I was so happy about the babies. You'll have a piece of me left with you after I am gone."

"How can you be so calm?" whispered Shirley; his voice seemed to have left him with Cecily's declaration.

"It's easier for me, beloved," she whispered. "I am going to heaven. You are the one who is going to be left. I've known, somehow, ever since contracting tuberculosis, that I was not going to live very long. My only hope was to live long enough to see you again, and tell you that I love you. I've had that—and a wonderful, beautiful, precious year besides."

Something inside Shirley broke. He laid his head down on her chest and cried bitterly, all the sorrow and anguish he was feeling swirling up and pouring out his eyes. Cecily stroked his hair with a soft hand and crooned gently to him, letting him have his cry out.

Finally, he was calm enough to sit up and look at her again. "I don't know if I can forgive God for taking you from me," he said honestly. "I don't think I can live without you."

"Dearest," she smiled, "God isn't taking me from you. He has given us a precious gift of time together as it is. I tell you, I knew I was going to die when I first got tuberculosis. All the time we've had together has just been a little extension on my life. He gave us one perfect year together. He didn't have to, but He did, just because He loves us. And He has given us two beautiful children, so that you will have something to work for and live for and comfort you after I am gone."

"I'd rather have you," Shirley admitted.

Cecily laughed. "I know—but rejoice in our children, dear. Don't ever resent them or feel as though they are what took me from you."

"I'll try," Shirley said. "Oh Cecily, I can't live without you. I just can't do it." He buried his face in his hands again.

"Yes you can," she answered, holding him in her arms. "You are my strong evergreen. You will live and love and endure. Oh, you will sorrow for me, I know, but in time you will learn to go on with life. Trust me." She kissed his rough brown hair. "Besides, I am not going to die right away. When are the babies due?"

"April," Shirley managed to reply.

"There, then you see? We still have seven beautiful months together. Dearest, we must live these months with joy. Don't let approaching sorrow ruin what time we still have. Let us live each day rejoicing in the gift of one more day together."

Shirley still felt battered and bruised, yet he was able to find some solace in his wife's words. He raised his head and looked at her. "Where did you learn such wisdom, wife of my heart?"

Cecily smiled. "Through pain and suffering. They are difficult taskmasters, but they do teach you what you need to know."

"Cecily," Shirley whispered. "I'll be strong soon—in a little bit I'll be able to understand your words—but right now I can do nothing but grieve. It's all just too sudden."

"I know," she answered, tears suddenly standing in her eyes as well. "Oh Shirley, I do hate to leave you!"

They clung to each other and cried, and yet when the tears passed, a new strength and calm seemed to come over them. They vowed to God and each other to not rail against His will, but to be thankful for what time they had been given, and what time they had left. They never mentioned Cecily's death again, but lived each day cheerfully and with joy, anticipating their children's births with delight. Those who knew the truth of the matter—both their families—couldn't understand their attitudes. Rachel thought Shirley very heartless for not mourning over Cecily and refused to speak to him. Nan and Rilla didn't go quite that far, but it was obvious that they thought both of them just a little crazy. Even Mother didn't understand how they could be so calm—_she_ couldn't have done it. Di, however, wrote from Toronto and told Shirley she was proud of him, and Paul and Miss Lavender both encouraged them.

Shirley still had his moments when grief and rebellion overcame him, but he always fought through, determined to do as Cecily had asked, and rejoice in the time they had, and be thankful for every precious moment they had together.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **Don't hate me, please don't hate me..._


	21. Epilogue

Shirley Blythe leaned against the rough wooden porch pillar and looked out at the fields covered in summer blooms. The sun was barely peeking up over the distant sandstone cliffs. In a few minutes, the babies would awaken for their morning feeding, but for now, he had a little time to think and ponder.

The twins had been born in mid-April, two tiny bundles of joy and sweetness. The first time he held them in his arms, Shirley felt a love and protection fiercer than anything he'd ever experienced before. He knew he would give his life for them in a heartbeat, and he no longer wondered at Cecily's courage in knowing she was facing death to bring them life. She had only lived a few hours after their birth, but that was long enough for her to gaze at them and marvel. Shirley had been beside her as she breathed her last, and she drifted off to her eternal sleep with his name on her lips and a smile on her face.

Left to himself, Shirley might have lost himself in grief, but Joshua Matthew Blythe and Joanna Margaret Blythe kept him sane and steady. Davy Keith had written during the winter that he wanted to move out west near Dora's family, as he'd heard that the farming was better out there. He offered to sell Green Gables to Shirley, and Shirley, after discussing it with Cecily, took him up on it.

Hence it was, that a few weeks after Cecily's funeral, Shirley had packed up bag and baggage and moved himself and his children back to the Island, and into Green Gables. He took up farming full-time, as well as continuing with his architectural goals through long-distance communications. Mainly he focused on raising his children, wanting them to be happy and healthy, and to never forget the mother who loved them enough to die for them before she even knew them.

As for himself, he mourned and grieved for his love, but knew that he would see her again someday, and determined to live while he was on earth in a manner that she might not be ashamed of him when they met again in heaven. And so part of his daily routine now was this, coming outside at dawn to watch the sunrise and thank God for His mercy and grace.

As the sun moved fully over the horizon, Shirley nodded at the sky. He let the warmth of the rays soak into his skin for just a moment, and then turned and went back inside, to take up his load and start another day.

_**The End**_


End file.
